Oneshots, Kinks, and Ideas
by BooLoo2
Summary: Slash! Just some oneshots involving romance and various ideas I don't feel like making into full-length stories at the moment. Warnings and Ratings inside. CH 20: Implied Ironhide/Ratchet and Wheeljack/Ratchet, and potential Twins/Ratchet.
1. Nightmare

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** A near rape and a whole lot of angst.

**Pairing:** ?/Perceptor (You'll find out in the story.)

**Rating:** T

**Author's Note:** Just some oneshots of varying lengths, though some might someday become full-length stories- _SOMEDAY_. Also, if any one decides they want to use an idea that just happens to rouse up by one of the oneshots please message me about it, not so much for permission as to just let me know so I can read it. I would love to read them! Please enjoy.

(**Edited…**)

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><p><strong>Prompt- Nightmare<strong>

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><p><em>Perceptor struggled against the mech bearing down on him, kicking out in a futile attempt to dislodge the larger bot from where he was straddling his thin waist, his clear, blue optics beginning to shine with tears not yet shed. He screamed, a spark-wrenching sound as he tossed to the side desperately, only to be held down by his wrists in a viselike grip. The mech on top of him chuckled deeply and attempted to shift positions, but Perceptor arched his back and began to crawl backwards out from under the heavy frame the moment the pressure let up, clawing at the tilted floors beneath his small hands.<em>

_He cried out for help, help he somehow knew wouldn't come._

_Everything was too hazy._

"_Come on Percy, don't be like that." One of his attackers purred sweetly from above the wailing scientist, pulling the smaller back under him and grinding his codpiece down onto the frightened bot, groaning at the sensation. "Think of it as your going away present to us." That amused, sickening, all too familiar voice sent a chill down the young scientist's frame._

_The bot released the small scientist's wrists to stroke against the thrashing frame below him, pinching and delicately brushing against sensitive wires, ignoring the smaller bot's renewed efforts to dislodge him. He leaned down over the bot, casting the smaller in an ominous shadow as he rubbed his lips affectionately against Perceptor's cheek, giving it a playful lick._

_Lights played intricate patterns before Perceptor's optics but he paid them no mind, instead concentrating on the memory flashes that seemed to play out before him. He struggled to grasp on to them like a lifeline._

_They faded away despite his best efforts, back into the face of a mech he'd never thought would do this to him, ever._

"_Please, please stop." He began to hit at the broad, unmoving chassis above him with all the might he could muster, his optics widening in terror as both his wrists were easily recaptured and pinned above his helm. "No, no, please you don't want to do this. Perhaps we could talk this over."_

_The world seemed to tilt, but Perceptor was too panicked to notice the sudden shift._

"_Oh, Percy." The bot hummed affectionately, settling his greater mass over the struggling scientist and grinding himself onto the smaller bot, groaning. "Ever the pacifist. So sweet, so innocent."_

_Perceptor shook his head rapidly, tears flowing trails down his face. "Please Sideswipe, don't do this. I'm begging you."_

_The red bot grinned at the sound of his name stumbling from the scientist's lips, using his free hand to hold the bot's chin in a firm grip as he leaned down to lick away the tears. Perceptor shuttered and cringed away from the warm glossa sliding smoothly across his face, shaking with fear._

_He knew exactly what those hands could do to a mech's frame, and with his own noncombatant armor even more vulnerable than those of their usual enemies, he could only imagine how easy it'd be for them to rip him to pieces._

_Everything seemed to faze out and then snap back into perfect focus._

_The microscope turned his helm away as far as he could and cried out to the bot sitting silently to the side, watching his brother ravishing the scientist's frame with an unreadable expression. "Please, Sunstreaker, no more. Make him stop!" He begged, having been too sheltered from the greatest horrors of the war to have many effective defenses from such potentially traumatizing occurrences._

_He was crying, the screams becoming trapped in his throat._

_The world tilted again and became an eerie bluish color._

_The yellow, now green-tinted bot, locked stares with the scientist with those sharp, dangerous optics which know neither gentleness nor compassion cutting through Perceptor like an energon blade, piercing._

_Sunstreaker moves then, crouching low and using one clawed hand for support as he closes the distance between he and the scientist in a way that Perceptor knows in not possible for a frame of the frontliner's build but for the life of him cannot put the pieces together into one coherent thought._

_It is all starting to become confusing, his processor seeming to detach from it all in a way that is only vaguely familiar to him._

_Those intense optics are burning right through him, two sets of them hovering above him._

"_Please."_

_Sideswipe grins widely, tilts his helm in a way that strikes a wire in the smaller red bot in ways he does not understand, reaching down to touch Perceptor's face softly, a sick parody of a lover's caress. Sunstreaker's rough, battle experienced hands takes hold of his helm, forcing their optics to focus intently into one another's, absolute._

_Perceptor's vision is narrowing, all else fading into the black void._

_Sunstreaker's mouth opens and-_

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><p>The screeching of Perceptor's internal alarm snaps the small mech into the waking world, leaving the young scientist startled and thoroughly shaken. He is hyperventilating, his systems running too hot and his spark pulsing too hard, terrified.<p>

He pulls his heating cover closer to himself for comfort and calms his intakes, repeating to himself that it had all just been a bad memory purge- very much like a human dream but much, much more vivid. And after a few moments he manages to steady his systems, wiping the coolant from his faceplates with the warm cover.

Without warning he throws his covers to the side and stands straight, glaring down to the side of his berth accusingly before pulling a small box out from under it. He pulls the top open with much determination and begins to rummage about in it, pulling out various data pads as he does so…

And then promptly begins to erase their contents.

"Okay." He mumbles to himself, tired and still a bit shaken by the bad memory purge he'd just experienced. "No more romance pads before recharge." He solemnly vows.

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><p>Unfortunately, that vow lasted little more then a cycle before Skyfire introduced the little scientist to a new romance thriller not long after about a struggling medic and his secret love.<p>

Perceptor still cannot look Ratchet in the optics without blushing to this day.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Oh, Percy! You are just too cute! I wonder what I'll think of next? Who knows?

**Please Review…**


	2. Wolves

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbetaed. None really other than slash, but that was to be expected.

**Pairing(s):** Jazz/Prowl and implied future Sunstreaker/Bluestreak.

**AN:** **Eikuu Hyo**, I'm sorry that I haven't gotten around to writing a Red Alert centered ficlet yet but this just happened to be one I'd had half done for a while and just wanted to get out of my _to do_ pile- at least it has a brief scene with Red Alert though. I'll probably start the Red Alert ficlet in a day or so. Thank you for having reviewed before. Please enjoy!

(**Edit…**)

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><p><strong>Prompt- Wolves<strong>

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><p>Head high on alert, legs stiff and ready to flee at a moment's notice, Bluestreak's keen optics scanned the great expanse of energon field laid out below the alloy cliffs, vents flaring with steady streams of air as he tried to detect the faintest scent shift in the wind. His entire frame stock-still, silent and inert with a distressing suspense, occasionally glancing about over the grazing herd under his watch. He was on the look out for the cyberwolf packs that now roamed the crystal forest naught but a few kilometers from their energon pastures. It was the season the wolves returned to their territory.<p>

A soft clicking called out over the herd and many more rose to answer it.

Bluestreak watched with interest as his carrier, Prowl, strode silently through the great mass of praxian frames, occasionally stopping to survey to doings of a fellow herd member, be it the chevron rutting of the young future sires or the tender cares of a carrier to their sparkling. The black and white frame of his parental unit was proud and strong, glowing with the combination of fresh pastures to graze and the promise of the dominant sire's return to once more spark the ready carriers.

Prowl would most certainly be Smokescreen's first choice given Prowl's fit condition and capabilities as a doting carrier. Bluestreak was testament to that.

The screeching cries of the ever-reliable Red Alert as he bolted into the safety of his bolthole drew Bluestreak's attention back to direction or the forest just beyond the steep hillside to his right. He stiffened and tensed at the sight that greeted him.

Three cyberwolves, one adult and two young ones he'd never before seen had been beginning to form a hunting formation around the herd, so silently that he had failed to notice the approaching danger himself. Luckily though, the young ones, twins he believed, had seen Red Alert at his burrow's entrance and had immediately went to investigate the small prairiebot. Needless to say, Red Alert was not pleased and was now throwing mineral sentiments into the young cyberwolf's faces as he dug further into his tunnel to escape them (Though he probably already had the deepest, longest bolt holes of any prairiebot in the region even though he had chosen to be solitary.).

Heedless to all that, Bluestreak turned back to the still oblivious herd and gave a frantic warning call out over the fields, himself bolting for the _safety_ of the herd as fast as his legs could carry him. His vents were working at full capacity to insure that his systems were prepared to bolt for his life and various chemicals were pumping into his systems, surging him forward in a desperate bid for survival.

A howl sent frigid chills running down his spinal cord and he moved faster, spurred on by the promise of death. He did not look back, did not slow for an instance, only darted straight into the mists of the fleeing herd and shoved his way towards the middle, screaming illegible words of panic as he went. The howling was getting louder.

Bluestreak could hear the energon rushing to his audio receptors, sharpening his hearing, to his sensors, intensifying the sensations his doorwings could pick up, and limbs, pushing him forward. Screams were erupting all around him and he knew the wolves were getting closer, moving in for the kill. His spark nearly gave out when he caught scent of the wolves right behind the herd.

Suddenly, the cyberwolves turned sharply to the left and began pulling together into full pack formation, no doubt getting lined up for the kill chase. For an instant, Bluestreak glanced back towards the retreating wolves against his better judgment, wanting to see which unlucky spark had been too close to the edge of the herd and had been targeted.

His spark stopped for a brief moment and he froze in his tracks.

The young praxian watched in horror as his creator sprang from left to right, making sharp turns and mad dashes, crisscrossing and weaving with the same elegance he's always had; even smacking one of the younger wolves in the face with his ped as he was making a sharp corner. His footwork was precise, beautiful, perfect, but no matter how fast and agile he was, no matter that he had managed to shake two of the wolves and leave them in his wake, there was that one wolf he could not shake; the pack leader…

Jazz.

They battled it out, speed and agility vs. speed and agility, Jazz speeding up and pouncing for the smaller bot, Prowl dashing to the side at the last second, throwing off the predator before he could grab hold of him. A life and death struggle, raw.

A misstep. For one horrifying moment in which time seemed to slow and the world closed into one lone moment of clarity, Bluestreak watched as his creator's face contorted into an unfathomable shock and watched helplessly as the very creator that had nurtured and protected him from activation took his first fall.

Miraculously, the pursuing cyberwolf had stumbled at the exact same moment as his creator and had fallen flat on his face in a rather ungraceful heap. But the others were closing in, and Prowl's leg had been twisted in the fall.

It was not possible, not to Bluestreak, it simply was not possible that Prowl was about to…die.

A scream tore itself through Bluestreak's vocalizer as he watched the twin wolves launch at the felled praxian, claws outstretched and fanged jaws bared open, ready to rip into their victim's energon lines. Bluestreak, unable to stop himself, sprinted towards the scene on shaking legs, screaming the whole way, dread like a cold poison in his spark.

His creator was about to deactivate. He would be eaten alive and suffer a slow, painful deactivation. He would be alone.

Bluestreak was not fast enough to get to his creator, he was too far away, and there was nothing he could do even if he could reach him. He knew this, he'd known from the time he was first brought online that there was nothing he could do to change the natural order of things, but he just didn't care, couldn't comprehend a life without his creator to watch over him. And it was in that final moment when all hope seemed lost that the most unexpected thing happened, and Bluestreak was shocked into motionlessness at the sight.

Jazz, the pack leader and the very cyberwolf whom had worked so hard and so determinedly to capture the praxian was now standing over that very fallen bot and growling menacingly at twins, fangs bared and claws pawing threateningly into the ground. The twins had immediately backed off but were still too hyped up from the chase to back down completely. They watched on with great anticipation and impatience typical to their youth, waiting to see what their leader would do.

Seemingly satisfied that the two younger bots would not challenge him in this, Jazz slowly backed off from the praxian, sitting on his back struts and studying the motionless form lying before him. He watched with great anticipation as the praxian finally managed to grasp the situation and push his upper body up from the ground, returning that intense stare.

Bluestreak waited with baited intakes, frame tense.

Without warning the wolf thrust his helm forward in a laugh and gently touched his forehead to that of Prowl's, smiling softly. "Ah finally got ya, Prowler." He hummed softly, giving a warning growl when the red colored twin started to inch in for a closer look, all the twin's previous hostility now replaced with a finely acute curiosity.

Bluestreak's mouth slowly dropped open in utter incredulity as his creator simply rose to his feet with that ever-present elegance and gave the wolf a small, knowing smile. "So you have, Jazz." He tilted his helm a bit, studying the wolves behind the pack leader. "And these are the infamous twin terrors the other herds have been so spooked by."

The twin wolves perked up in curiosity and slight annoyance at being addressed so casually by their potential prey idem. It made their helms ache.

Jazz seemed to beam at that. "The ones an' only." He bragged shamelessly, puffing out in a display of pride, pleased by the rather impressed look that flitted across Prowl's face.

"I see." Prowl sighed. "But unfortunately I cannot stay long." He gestured to where he knew Bluestreak was standing just off to the side, stunned into silence. "My young one must be traumatized by these turn of events. I never did tell him about our agreement." He sounded regretful for that, or as regretful as he could sound while schooling his voice.

Both of the wolf's optic ridges hiked up, before he burst into laugher. "Poor kid."

Now Bluestreak was really, really confused.

Without pause, the wolf continued. "Though ah kinda get the appeal. Ah still haven't told the twins 'bout the agreement either." The twins seemed to huff at that, put they were too interested in the happenings to interfere. Sunstreaker did growl though.

Prowl nodded before totting away with a confident stride, though there was just the slightest limp. He cast one final glance back. "I look forward to seeing you soon, Jazz." Jazz's engines roared at those words, completely startling the two younger wolves and causing Bluestreak to jump, almost hitting his creator in the process.

Prowl didn't even react. He'd been expecting that reaction. It always came.

Just as Prowl was about to pass him by Bluestreak suddenly burst into a flurry of words. "Oh, are you alright, creator? Do you need me to help you back to the herd? Do you-"

Prowl cut him off with a gentle nudge. "What do you know about interspecies bonding?"

Bluestreak tilted his helm in bafflement, optics flashing his confusion at such a strange question. "Interspecies bond-" Then the meaning caught up with him. His entire frame froze, his optics wide. "You mean you and the wolf- you two are really- but how is that even possible? I mean- I mean-me-I-we-"

Prowl just smiled softly, leaning in close to his creation and allowing him to push into the warmth of his side, confused and shaken. "You know, Bluestreak." Prowl said gently, giving an affectionate lick to his not so little one's helm. "That yellow one seems curious about interspecies bonding as well." Bluestreak's helm snapped to attention at that, casting a startled glance back towards where the wolves where sharing in conversation, the larger one, Jazz, explaining something to the twins.

Just as his creator had said the yellow cyberwolf was casting brief, sideways glances towards him with a little less malice than should be present in a predator when in the presence of its prey. Bluestreak shivered but blushed when the two locked optics, holding the gaze steadily.

The yellow wolf shuttered an optic at him and the young praxian turned to his creator with anxious optics. "He's scary and looking at me and making me feel uncomfortable!" He babbled franticly, doing his best to ignore the wolf's stare, even as they passed out of the wolves' sight.

The older bot just shook his helm and smiled a little wider. "Maybe I should tell you about how your sire and I met?"

Bluestreak stiffened dangerously at those words. "My si-si-sire-re?" And he fell to the ground, out cold and motionless, having been unable to cope with the sudden shock of it all.

Prowl vented softly and laid down beside his fallen creation in the soft energon fields, rubbing his helm and doorwings affectionately. "Yeah, that was my reaction too."

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Hoped you liked it!

**Please review…**


	3. Protector

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbetaed. None really other than slash, but that was to be expected.

**Pairing(s):** Red Alert/Inferno

**AN:** Sorry it took so long **Eirkuu Hyo**. Anyhow, I hope you'll enjoy this. Oh yeah, this also has a lot of Inferno in it, but that's mostly to make Red's awesomeness/scariness shine through. Red alert can be kick aft too! Thank you **Eirkuu Hyo** and **TfJazz** for reviewing!

(**Edited…**)

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><p><strong>Prompt: Protector<strong>

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><p>The faint sound of water dripping to the floor into a great puddle was now to the likeness of a roaring slap of thunder with each drip, only increasing in volume as time passed.<p>

Inferno stared listlessly into the darkness that had become his world for so long, once defiant optics dim and unfocused, damaged beyond repair from a particularly vicious strike he'd received in the Decepticon's latest interrogation efforts. He had not spoken though, so in his mind all was well despite the warnings going off inside his processor.

In truth, he did not expect to be rescued anytime soon, because as protective as the Prime was over his troops, he would likely try all other routes before resorting to conflict to retrieve his frontliner. The fact still remained that inferno was expendable, and no matter how much the great Prime would loath to admit it, he could not in good conscious put others at risk when there could have been an alternative just to save a single soldier.

Inferno did not blame him. Once more it had been his own foolish rashness that had gotten him into this situation. Because once more he had gone on his gut instincts instead of waiting for backup as he'd been ordered. He could admit that he had been reckless, but the sight of Red Alert being downed naught but a few yards from his own position had fogged his processor, causing him to act out on instinct.

_Protect Red_, had been the only conscious thought he'd had at the time. Unfortunately, when he gave chase to fend the Decepticons off, he'd not noticed the rather large Con who'd been lying in wait the whole time. The last thing he remembered was the pain searing though the back of his helm and the feeling of hands flinging him over a large shoulder.

For a time Inferno could not understand why they would ever bother to set a trap just to get a hold of him, but the more he thought about it, the more the answer became clear- than again it could have been the questions being spat at him as the Decepticon interrogators beat him to living scrap that gave him the answer.

Red Alert was the Head of Security and Inferno was his bodyguard- lover if you asked those who knew them well enough. Red Alert had back up programs that would wipe his processor of all the Ark's security details if he ever happened to be captured, while Inferno did not. Inferno spent nearly all his time with the Security Director as his protector and mate and knew the details of his work. The Conclusion: Inferno was a reliable source of information of the Autobot Headquarters' security systems as well as a convenient punching bag.

The Cons just hadn't expected him to be so tight lipped.

Inferno flopped his helm to one side, resting it against his raised shoulder as he watched with some interest as a shadow flickered in the darker corner of his cell. From where he was chained to the wall, the flicker seemed almost small enough to fit through the crude bars of his prison cell; not that he understood why the Decepticons had decided putting a full-grown transformer in a steel-barred cage was in any way effective, but he just assumed that's what the energon chains fastened painfully to his wrists were for.

A rat. He promptly ignored when it scurried off. He just didn't have the energy to keep interest.

The world suddenly started shaking around him and Inferno briefly felt his spark pulse with a hope he'd not allowed himself before. Had the Autobots come to get him even at the risk of losing another more valuable soldier in doing so? It was selfish yes, but when one spends so long trapped in a small, dark cell with only the dripping overhead and the fists of your captors as company, one begins to wish for a little more than their share.

The shaking abruptly stopped and Inferno felt what little hope he had managed to gather fade as the quiet settled in, broken only by the steady dipping of the leak overhead. Inferno flinched at the sound, finally beginning to re-notice it after he'd just managed to block it out.

He would have preferred the silence.

He wanted Red Alert.

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><p>Decepticons were scrambling about in uncoordinated groups, some making a mad dash for the control center while others searched the lower levels for sign of intrusion. None of them knew what they were doing, and more than anything, that's what had the War Lord so frustrated.<p>

"Soundwave!" Megatron bellowed from his throne, fingers beating against the arm of it in impatience. "Report!"

Straightening himself into a rigid posture, the Decepticon Communications officer reported. "Breech in security. Source: Unknown."

"Unknown?" The tyrant began quietly, the calm facade stretched thin over the brewing storm. "What do you mean unknown. Well you better find out what just attacked my ship!" Soundwave bowed swiftly before rushing from the room, intent on putting as much distance between himself and this base as fast as possible before that glitching psychopath managed to gain complete control over the ship's systems.

Well, as the Decepticon leader's most loyal subordinate he should have warned Megatron of the future things to come, but the little glitch currently rampaging though their security network had his optics set on specific targets, and Soundwave was definitely not going to become one of them. The death of his leader would be nothing to him in the grant scheme of time, for in the end all that mattered was the safety of his cassettes.

Soundwave never thought he'd see the day he'd learn to fear an Autobot.

He deactivated his Decepticon transmission beacon.

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><p>In the tight space of the ship's main processing system, a flicker of blue shot out through the pitch black and flashed upon the several wires held tightly in the small, black hands, highlighting them for the briefest of moments. The fist they resided in tightened even more as the sensory horns upon the bot's helm flared a startling blue, electrical currents jumping sporadically from one to the other.<p>

"Prime is too idealistic to do anything about them." The bot mumbled to himself, deep in though. "He couldn't give the killing blow when it counted most and he never will." The horns flashed blue again and the wires near his helm singed at the heat they produced. "I'll have to do it myself, or I'll lose Inferno just like we've lost everyone else."

The bot pulled a small monitor screen from his subspace and begun rerouting the control center's wires into its various ports, focusing intently on the way they shone and twisted between his fingers. The bot's optics wandered distractedly briefly, something like pain present within them before it was promptly drowned out by a flare of pure determination, and he grit his dental.

"Someone's got to do it, and if Prime won't- I will." The screen finally flicker to life before him, casting him into an eerie background of sharp shadows and haunting light as he released his own connection cables and connected into the ship's main systems. "For Inferno."

**Command Center: **_Upload complete. Enter Security Clearance._

**Unknown: **_Protector275_

**Command Center: **_Override code accepted. Syncing process to Nemesis control center complete. Syncing process to Cybertron's control center complete. Choose course of action._

**Unknown: **_Lock down Nemesis brig. No entry without clearance._

**Command Center: **_Action complete. Choose next course of action._

**Unknown: **_Lock down Nemesis and Cybertron. No entry or departure without clearance._

**Command Center: **_Action Complete. Choose next course of action._

**Unknown: **_Locate intruders. Intruder Identification: Decepticons._

**Command Center: **_Action complete, targets located. Choose next course of action._

**Unknown: **_Terminate._

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Don't get me wrong, I love all the fics where Inferno is all protective and loving towards Red Alert (I practically melt at them), but sometimes I like to see that devotion and protectiveness returned in full. Hope you enjoyed it.

**Note: Warning-** Spoiler. One may ask why I made Soundwave out to be more interested in his cassette's well being than that of his Lord's, but it kind of stuck a cord with me that despite being loyal, during the G1 Transformers movie he let Starscream throw Megatron off the ship to deactivate when the situation called for it, yet reached out from a fleeing aircraft to grab his cassette when he could have been shot while doing so. Just my observation, but its been a while since I've watched the movie so I could be wrong.

**Please Review…**


	4. Warmth

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbetaed. (I will likely edit this more in the future, but right now I'm tired and just want to watch a movie with my family.)

**Pairing:** Jazz/Prowl

**AN:** Thank you **TfJazz** and **Starfire201** for reviewing. Please enjoy!

(**Edited…**)

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><p><strong>Prompt- Warmth<strong>

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><p>The darkness was heavy, as to how such a concept could be so Prowl had no answer, but somehow he could feel the weight that seemed to linger in it, like a hand placed firmly upon is chassis, holding him still. It made him uneasy, but he was a rational bot, and so shrugged it off as the aftereffects of the medical grade he'd been suggested- demanded- to take from their CMO before he'd lost communication with Lacon headquarters.<p>

Persistent whispers of doubt lingered over him though, haunting him with possibilities and not so pleasant scenarios of the potential dangers that thrived in the shadowed corners of this war. He quickly smothered them with logic and an iron will.

But the fact still remained that he was on a small ship, trapped in the ruins of a rusting city, completely isolated from outside help, without communication or a power source to get the vessel moving, and deep in Decepticon territory. His entire frame was wound up with tension, and even the slightest change in his environment had him on edge.

He'd heard of the shadow dwellers, cruel, cold creatures that had merely been stories for campsite entertainment when the energon was flowing and a good scaring was needed to keep the troops on their peds, distant fantasies that plagued young cadet's nightmares. They had once been nothing more than a passing fancy of thought for Prowl, but in the black confines of his ship, with the silence his only company and the images of hollow-opticed frames haunting his every thought, he could not help but dwell on the possibly.

A gust of air ghosted over Prowl's plating, like a gentle caress, and he shivered at the icy feeling that crept along his circuits. He convinced himself he was merely tired, that he was imagining the sudden swell of knowing that rose within him, because there was no ventilation in this ship- there had been no need for it. So logically, there could not have been a draft. It was an improbability.

All was silent for a time, not even the telltale clank of shifting armor giving indication as to the potential nightmare stalking the shadows beside him. He was laying facing the ships only entrance, staring into the darkness, waiting for even the slightest shift in air current, for the softest vibration of sound across his door wings.

It was a small ship, meant for stealth and quick maneuvers, barely able to comfortably accommodate three bots. There was nowhere for anyone to hide, and by extension, nowhere for him to run. He was trapped with whatever might be aboard the aircraft with him.

He was not comforted by his newfound vulnerability.

His finger was on the trigger to his weapon, steady, but very stiff, and no matter what logic dictated he could not find it in him to take that finger off of it.

A flicker of movement ghosted a warning across his sensory net, and in an instant his gun was raised, optics skimming the shadows, door wings tense and taking in all changes in the ship's interior. Something was there, of that he now had no doubt, but he could not track it.

It was too dark, too quiet, too tense. A chill run down his back strut, a pinch of fear swelled in his spark, and he felt the slightest tremor in the hand whose finger was still on the weapon's trigger.

A sense of foreboding creped through his frame, but before he could comprehend its origin he felt a presence make itself known…behind him.

"Why don't ya put da gun down, lil' praxian?"

Prowl whipped around and fired a shot, the plasma blast soaring through the empty space between him and the wall, leaving a dark, smoking stain upon it that Prowl couldn't rightfully make out in the dark of the room, but could smell very clearly. His spark near stopped when he realized there was nothing there, that he had missed his target, or worse, was starting to hear things. That would not bode well for the Autobots.

A rush of air beside him; Prowl lashed out with his elbow joint in that direction.

He met with nothing but the faint smell of charred metal.

A soft chill ran through his arm, and he nearly jumped when a voice whispered into his audio receptor. "Ah got all night ta play dis game, lil' praxian. Ah jus' wanna talk ta ya."

The Autobot stiffened, but did not try to further engage the unseen bot, having realized very quickly that he was simply outclassed in terms of stealth with such an opponent as this. If there was any sort of compromise that could be made in place of actual hand-to-hand combat, he knew he'd have to take it, and he was just grateful that seemed to be an option now.

Straightening himself to something of a dignified manner, he addressed the unseen bot with great caution. "Why have you boarded my ship without authorization? You are not an Autobot." And that was true. Prowl couldn't detect an identifier on the bot, in fact, he couldn't detect him at all.

The thought unnerved Prowl.

"An' there in lies da question. What is a Autobot doin' here in da lower levels?" Though he couldn't see the intruder, Prowl got the distinct feeling that the other was watching him intently, studying him with no small amount of curiosity.

It was unsettling.

" I am on patrol. I was sent here to scout the area for survivors and lie low for the time being." That was not a complete lie, but only about half the truth of the matter as well. The last thing he needed was for a bot of unknown fraction or origin knowing he, the Autobot's second in command, was stranded here with no means of calling for help.

There was silence, and for reasons unknown the praxian felt compelled to maintain that silence. There was something about this unknown bot that made Prowl uneasy, but at the same time not entirely threatened by his presence. This contradiction began to wreak havoc on his logic circuits.

The sensation of a single digit tracing along a recently acquired battle scar caused him to jerk away, his processor swirling to life as the implications such insight had. His battle computer was now completely booted up and running calculations.

He knew. This bot knew he was alone. If there was one thing Prowl recognized right then, it was a bot that was not going to fall for petty games of bluffs and deception. When it came down it, Prowl knew this thing between them, this tension, would be a battle of wills and wit.

"That bad huh?" Prowl could all but sense the smirk that'd doubtlessly wormed its way onto the other's mouth. "A CMO that tells da Autobot second in command ta drink his medi-grade every recharge cycle yet neglects ta weld da rip in his armor." This time Prowl did not pull away from the finger tracing the shagged tear. "Highly unlikely if da rumors 'bout da Autobot's infamous Ratchet da Hatchet have truth ta them."

Prowl tensed, his frame bodily leaning away from where the other's presence seemed strongest, being sure that no parts of their frames were in contact. Every sensor he had was on full alert.

As if to amend for having unnerved the Autobot, the unknown continued. "Ya still have da smell of medi-grade on ya glossa." Just as Prowl was beginning to calculate what the bot had been trying to achieve by smelling his mouth, the voice continued. "But Autobot communications lines aren't very secure in these lower levels anyway."

Silently, Prowl sent a suspicious, knowing look into the darkness, understanding the implications immediately. This bot had been following him for some time, hacking into his communication lines and restricted files. He felt an indignant flush of heat sweep through his frame.

"What do you want? You are obviously not here for information, since you seem perfectly capably of obtaining that without assistance, and you don't seem to be here to assassinate me, since you seem to have the upper hand and have not offlined me yet. So, what is your purpose in coming here?"

"Simple." The bot began, and Prowl, though he didn't have a clean-cut picture in his processors of what this other bot looked like, could imagine the other shrugging his shoulders. "Ah want ta share ya berth, and in return, ah'll serve da Autobot cause"

Prowl's logic circuits stuttered at that, before his frame tensed in rage at the possible implications of those words. "What? Are you suggesting that I-"

A hand on his shoulder stopped the tactician mid-sentence. "Ya do not have ta interface with me. I just wanna hold ya. That's all ah want."

Prowl remained silent, not sure what to believe of this bot- and having an even harder time deciphering the bot's true intentions. He sounded sincere, desperate almost, but he still couldn't see the other bot, and above all else, that's what was unnerving the praxian most.

"Let me see your face." Prowl commanded tonelessly, though there was a slight quiver in it.

He could not defeat this bot in hand to hand, that much was obvious just in the presence he gave off, and even if he did manage to put some distance between them and draw his weapon to the ready, this bot was obviously too well adapted to the dark confines of the lower levels to be hit in any place other than an open battlefield.

A gleam of misty white locked on him for the first time, its ghostly color lighting the dark room in a way that Prowl's own blue optics could not compete. The light was steady, but weighted with an intensity that almost, almost, frightened the Autobot. It was as though that white gleam had seen the world and taken the burden of its sins upon itself.

Prowl knew it was the other's optics- visor, searching and calculating as they were, but Prowl also felt something else in those hidden depths; longing.

"Sure thing."

The crackle of a flare being activated was the only warning Prowl had before the room was cast into a haze of luminosity, temporarily blinding the Autobot officer. It burned to be in the light after having been trapped in the dark confines of his ship for so long, and he had to cover his optics at the intensity even this miniscule amount of light seemed to hold for him.

After a few moments to adjust to the change in brightness, Prowl was finally able to unshutter his optics and truly look the other for the first time.

He was quite shocked by what he found.

The bot was a bit taller than him, but slimmer and more compact, with a white visor that seemed to highlight the semi-smug smirk forming across his smooth lips. Black and white coloring, eerily similar but inversely different from the praxian's own, seemed to shine in the light, proud and gleaming in a way the Autobot had not even considered a possibility in conditions such as those of the lower levels. The sensory horns upon his helm were elegant, in a sturdy kind of way, and the narrow but healthy fill out of his face gave him a youthful quality. He really was beautiful, alarmingly so.

"See somethin' ya like, Autobot Prowl?" That smirk seemed to widen in such a way that could be seen as teasing, but by the way that visor visibly dimmed, Prowl knew there was more to it than that; an invitation for something more than a casual partnership.

For a moment Prowl hesitated, because with his usual stern and stoic personality, it was not often that he was propositioned for anything other than work related activities, and he was not use to having a bot of any kind of beauty taking interest in him. But this only lasted but a brief moment before his logic circuits caught up with him.

Prowl asked the questions that now dominated his processors, with no small amount of suspicion. "Why such a request? Surely you must have some place to go if you've been living down here for as long as your behavior patterns suggests." Then, his face scrunched up just the slightest bit, Prowl continued. "And seeing as you've read my files and intercepted my comm. transmissions, you know I possess no talent for social interaction other than the commander/subordinate role. Why chose a bot who cannot give the intimacy you seem to be seeking?"

The smirk that had been so strong but a few moments ago died down at those words. The other tilted his helm a bit, as though contemplating the praxian's inquires, before tightening his lips into a frown.

"You are stability, something ah do not possess." At the slightly stunned look that flittered across Prowl's face, the other continued. "Look at me. Most neva see pass this gleam of paint an' visor ah wear." Something dangerous glinted in that said visor, and Prowl understood what he was trying to say with startling clarity. "Ah'm not completely here an' my spark knows it." A dark chuckle, something Prowl had to fight not to shy away from. "Ah can feel it callin' out for balance, always has been, an' dat balance is you."

Prowl turned away, knowing now that this bot's plight was genuine, for he too knew what it was like to feel incomplete, but more than that, he could only imagine what it must be like to fight such feelings without a battle computer to dull the turmoil of such pain. Sometimes, he could barely handle the flood of longing even with it in place.

Every spark searches for balance, some more strongly than others, and though most connections never move on to a true spark bond, the closeness of having another synchronize with their spark waves is enough. This is especially true in times of great distress, such as war, when ones will power is stressed to the breaking point.

"I see." Prowl clenched his dentals, debating on how to approach this delicate situation, but decided that if this bot truly did want to connect with him, he'd have to pose the question eventually. "This maybe an absurd question, but are you-" Now Prowl felt truly ridiculous, he turned his helm away in shame, a far off look in his optics.

What was he thinking? Shadow dwellers? Those are tales made to frighten new recruits.

But before he could berate himself any further for even considering such a possibility, a hand grabbed hold of his own and placed it to the others spark chamber.

Prowl gasped at the shock of cold that spiked through his sensory net and jolted away from the frigid metal, staring with unnaturally bright optics to the bot sitting patiently beside him. His processors were racing, spark surging with shock, battle computer not quite able to comprehend such a notion as the one he was faced with.

A spark that was still pulsing with life, but was as frozen as the bitter expanse of space. It simply was not possible.

"Ah guess ya could say shadow dwellers are real, just not quite what ya expected." The bot began, pulling his hand away from where it'd been left suspended in midair. "An' yes, ah'm one of dem. Don't worry though, we're not all quite as bad as da rumors tell." Suddenly he grinned, wide and as bright as the sun itself, thrusting out his hand again in greeting. "Ah'm Jazz by da way, Jazz da saboteur. Ah already know ya name though- so, do we have a deal?" Prowl stared at the hand for a moment, before his senses caught up with him.

He hesitated, before his said as simply and as straightforwardly as he could manage, his resolve set. "Jazz, I am afraid I cannot help you in the way you believe me capable of." His brow ridges pulled together into a slightly apologetic expression. "I know nothing of shadow dwellers or their- conditions, other than what I have heard on passing. I am sorry." Jazz shook his helm, and Prowl paused from what he was about to say next.

He took hold of Prowl's hand again and placed it back over the spark chamber once more, but this time, Prowl did not pull away.

"Feel that." Jazz said lightly, beginning to caress a thumb over the back of the tactician's hand. Prowl tried to steel himself against it, but it was a failing endeavor. His own spark was beginning to call out for closeness, something he had been sorely lacking for far too long- even if the spark it wanted was as cold as ice. "It was not doin' that a few cycles ago."

Prowl was not a cold-sparked bot, far from it in fact, and the more he heard the hope in the other's voice, felt the growing warmth upon the other's plating and deep, deep within his spark, felt those reassuring caresses against his hand, the more his resolve wavered.

"When ah'm with ya, ah feel more alive than ah have durin' my entire functioning." Jazz said seriously, not a hint of deceit in his tone, both hands now holding to Prowl's one, moving closer to the other bot with slow, sure precision. "Ah don't know how this happened, but ah know this is real. Ah know 'cause this is da first time in vorns ah've felt anythin'. But ah also know that dis is a lot ta ask of ya, 'specially since we jus' met."

Prowl was torn. They had just met, and he'd just learned this bot's name and that he was a shadow dweller, though now he was brought to question the legitimacy of those early campsite tales, and now that bot was asking to allow him into his berth as his companion.

There was no shame in having or being a companion. In fact, it was encouraged among the troops to establish such bonds as a way to maintain moral. Prowl himself had had a companion long ago when he was just a new recruit himself, but developing the trust needed for such a bond takes time, and he was hesitant about connecting to this virtually unknown bot.

However, he was also very lonely.

"Alright. I will share my berth with you and allow our sparks to synchronize." Prowl sighed, sounding defeated but not all too disappointed with this development. "However-" Prowl continued, just as a smile came to Jazz's face and he was reaching for the Autobot's hand. "You are not to tell anyone I assumed you were a night dweller." The twins would never let him live it down if they knew their commander had been unable to recharge because he was thinking about campsite stories.

Jazz laughed in understanding, something he'd not done in a long time, taking in the completely serious expression that had formed on Prowl's face as he'd mumbled those words. He'd heard enough about the twins to know what they were like, and frankly, he didn't blame the tactician.

Prowl smiled too, because it was good to have someone beside him again, someone who would become more than just a passing acquaintance. It was nice to have someone who would stay beside him once more. And as Prowl felt strong arms wrap around him and pull him close into a comforting embrace, felt how the cold spark beside him begun to warm at his presence, how the frame against him began to relax at his touch, and heard how the mech beside him sighed in contentment, Prowl couldn't stop from thinking that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Unfortunately, Prowl would learn three cycles later that Jazz had been the one who'd pulled out his ship's power core just so they could have that meeting in a more private setting. Prowl had given Jazz the silent treatment for the rest of that cycle.

However, neither of them have ever regretting that meeting. Not when the truth of their meeting got out, and most certainly not when they spark bonded so many vorns later.

…To this day, Jazz still has that power core in his subspace.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>Jazz and Prowl are always in so right together- ALWAYS. This one is a semi-fluff/angst kind of story that was just made to inspire more Jazz/Prowl stories. But I love it so!

Also, if anyone's wondering why Jazz's accent goes from "dat" to "that", etc., it's because when I've listened to people that have that speaking style, they tend to pronounce their words at the beginning and end of their sentences more than in the middle, and tend to pronounce more when they have slower sentences, than when they have long or more quickly spoken ones. I could be wrong though, since I mostly get my accent writing styles from listening to my brother and his friends talking. (However, this is fanfiction, so I'm hoping no one's going to bite my head off just because Jazz's accent isn't perfect.)

**Please review…**


	5. Gone

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Tragedy…

**Pairing:** Ratchet/Wheeljack

**Rating:** T

**Author's Note:** Thank you **Qwertzu**, **ntera**, **Crazygrrl XD**, **Fianna9**, **Thalanee**, and **TfJazz** for reviewing, your reviews have really been making my days for a while now. And to **Thalanee**, I am currently working on another oneshot for the "_Warmth_" AU, but it's taking some time because of family stuff. Hope you all enjoy this one!

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><p><strong>Prompt- Gone<strong>

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><p>Great pillars of smoke and ash crawled ever upward towards the darkened night skies where fire crackled through the blackened clouds, setting the world into a haze of soot and gray. Light would shine through but for a moment between roars of deafening thunder, dim and eerie as the ocean's murky depths, reflecting skywards from the grayed frames piled high throughout the scorched lands, gleaming in the seas of spilt energon stretching as far as could be seen through the dark and raining ash.<p>

Flames rose over the peaks of corpses mounts, scolding and setting the world afire, releasing their charcoaled remains into the skies above, only to be brought down in storms of acid rain. Screams echoed through the vast canyons of the scared land, hollow and haunting as the vast expanse of space, stretching out through the fabrics of time as no more than a distant whisper among the shattered stars. The far off hiss of laser fire filled the night with static, white noise among an endless sea of nothingness.

In the sludge of fluids and meshed framework, black from the ash and charcoal, a team of Autobot scientists worked in the shadows of a great tower, their peds long since peeled of its outer paint and their servos worn raw from acid exposure. Their labored vents stuttered heavily as their filters struggled to clear the grime and ash in the air, their joints creaking ominously as acid rain soaked deep into their circuits.

Tendrils of raw energy crackled and lashed out at the Autobot scientist's servos and frames as they worked, illuminating their features with glimpses of shadows against sharp angles, setting their optics ablaze in light. The taunt lines of their mouths and the haunted depths of their optics flashed and shifted perceivably with each spoken word or flickering movement. Their voices lost to the winds that swept upon them in great lashes of power.

"Wheeljack, we must go. The energy tower is too unstable to persist and will detonate at any moment, trapping us all within the resulting nuclear storm."

Blue shined ominously into the eerie shadows, casting long shadows upon the weary faces of those whose identities have been lost to the cover of acid sludge, flashing against the blurred outline of an soot-covered form hunched determinedly over a poorly concealed panel. "I am almost there, Perceptor. I can't afford to let up now, but you must go." He left the implications to their imaginations, but they all knew what was going to happen, how couldn't they.

They'd all known the moment they'd opened the control panel and realized what it was they were dealing that this was the last time they'd ever see their comrade again.

A few of the others present shifted on their peds anxiously, further sloshing about the burning alloy paste into their joints and up their legs, corroding the outer plating that came into contact with it. Their optics flashed and flickered in the darkness, dimming as the sting of acid rain singed at the sensitive wires of their visual feeds. Thin lines of air escaped their vents, only to be tainted a ghostly green as the shifted chemical composition of the exhaled air reacted to the highly nuclear environment near the tower.

Silently, they began to leave, placing a hand of Wheeljack's shoulder briefly in one final show of friendship. It was Perceptor's hand that laid motionless the longest, when a promise was spoken. And then he left, and Wheeljack was alone.

A pulse of pure nuclear energy burst from the top of the tower and illuminated the skies for a brief moment, setting the world and skies ablaze in shades of lime and emerald. The heavens screamed in defiance.

Wheeljack looked to the sky with grim-set determination and peered to the whips of energy lashing out into the night, fighting through the pain of the acid pooling within the vents of his mask. Time was running out, time the Autobots did not have.

He only hoped Ratchet would forgive him.

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><p>Beyond the vivid, sterile gleam of Lacon headquarters' major medbay, deep into the lower levels of its many floors and uncharted mazes, a lone bot stands with his helm bowed and shoulders slumped against the barren walls of this cold, unforgiving world, life-giving hands ringed tightly before his chassis.<p>

And then, the bot speaks, low and tired as the words pass his lips in a gentle whisper, for the very last time, defeated. "You're not coming back to me this time, are you Wheeljack?" And those red, life-giving hands shake, because there is nothing more he can do, and those hands were never meant to be idle.

But when the world shakes with a mighty roar and the sounds of the war above him dies down to the soft hum of acid rain upon grayed armor and the scarred land that had embraced them in their last moments, the medic leaves the darkness of his hidden sanctuary, with his helm held high upon rigid shoulders and his hands steady at his side.

…And his spark just a little bit colder, echoing the hollow beats of an existence now his alone.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>No, Wheeljack, no! I am so sorry I killed you, but you will always be one of my favorite characters. Poor Ratchet, I feel bad now.

**Please review…**


	6. Transfer

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbetaed.

**Pairing:** Jazz/Prowl

**AN:** Thank you **TfJazz** and **Starfire201** for reviewing. This is the '_Warmth_' continuation **Thalanee** requested, because this little bunny likes for carrots- carrot cake that is! For **Qwertzu**, at the moment I'm still debating on whom I should pair Ratchet with, but I am asking my friend for advise on the matter so worry not fellow transfan. Please enjoy!

(**Edited…**)

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><p><strong>Prompt- Transfer<strong>

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><p>Darkness had creped ever slowly over the lands surrounding the Decepticon's headquarters, like a thick, black oil seeping through gaping cracks in the sky just out of reach of raised hands and tilted wings, absolute in its presence and broken only by the distant specks of light in the far distance, hazy and dulled in the vast nothingness that consumed them.<p>

Silence blanketed the black abyss with the same presence of a foreboding tragedy, a dark, hollow eeriness that seeped into the very sparks of weary travelers and drove them to the edge of a blade's smooth surface. It was something the shadow dwellers knew all too well, like a memory long since past but never truly forgotten.

And through this seemingly eternal night, a flicker of light glinted for but a moment in the gloom of this empty world, a beacon of bitter mortality and a fine sense of knowing, before it was gone as quickly as it had been given existence, once more becoming another ghost in the endless shadows. A haunting sight, something that strikes fear into even the surest beings, like a demon bathed in death's tears.

The figure appeared again, sharp and deadly against the glow of far off moon, a presence of ominous things to come.

That shadow of darkness slipped through the light for the briefest of moments, before it was gone once more, a trail of destruction in its wake; upon the wall where its hand had touched with the lightest of caresses, an inscription paved in stone and energon.

_Where has my lil' praxian gone?_

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><p>The praxian could not recharge, even into the latest cycles of the night the hazy call to such was pierced by the knowing that shook him to his core, an unfathomable feeling. It plagued at him, this foreboding, driving him to pace his quarters in slow, calculated strides and glance wearily over his shoulder from time to time.<p>

Prey waiting for its predator.

He had left him. No, he had not left him forever, he was not running away from him, but he had agreed to a transfer without informing the saboteur of these occurrences.

He had silently justified himself time and time again for his own actions, that Jazz was deep undercover and these chain of events could not be helped, that this offer to better his strategic advantages was limited and had to be taken while given, but they all sounded hollow in his audio receptors. But even with the weight of their truth, an even greater truth loomed just before his optics, creeping into the long suppressed confines of his subconscious, a projection of his doings.

A very really chill ran the length of his spinal cord.

Deep, deep in the back of his processors, where the most primal of instincts dwell and form the basics of emotions, Prowl knew that very soon repentance for his necessary evils would not be for the faint of spark, that this would be a defining moment that would shape the entirety of his functioning- or not at all. And somewhere within his chassis, beneath the steadfast confidence and the stiff door wings held at attention and the rigid shoulders holding his helm high in a show of dignified authority, he felt those instinctual impulses scream only one word to him…

_Run._

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><p>It was deathly silent in the dark quarters, as it had been so many other nights before since that fateful decision to transfer, but this night Prowl could feel the tension in his frame finally reaching its climax, like the flood gate was about to open under the mounted pressure, releasing all into the world in one final push of resistance.<p>

And so he waited for the inevitable, lying mutely upon his berth facing the only door to his quarters with his optics dimmed and his doorwings rigid in anticipation- so very much like the first time he'd met the saboteur. Thinking back on it, the comparison made him squirm uneasily against his berth.

He knew Jazz would not hurt him in such a way that warranted this unrest that swirled within him like a finely ground poison, would not purposely seek to harm him in any way long-lasting or unjust, but there was just something in the predatory nature that was Jazz that made him feel tense, expectant, and oh so vulnerable. The glint in that now dark blue visor stirred something within him every time their gazes met, sharp and watching him with something unfathomably thrilling, as though just waiting for him to slip up, waiting to catch him when he falls.

And Jazz has always been such a pushy mech.

It mattered not if this transfer had been Prowl's doing or not, whether it was essential for a greater good or just a passing whim, Jazz would be there any moment to pick at the details and stress upon Prowl the importance of their- intimacy, their moments twined together upon Prowl's berth with their frames held close and their spark chambers even closer, like lovers who had never learned to take the next step.

And once more, Jazz would push for more, stress the importance of their coupling and the security it brought to them both, bring to light once more the desperate pull of their sparks as they struggled to reach the other from the confines of their spark chambers, a connection they could never complete at their choosing. But Jazz…

Jazz would never force an interface nor a bond, of that Prowl was certain.

He was as certain of that truth as he was that the ghostly chill breathing down his neck could belong to only one bot.

"Ya left me, Prowler." Came the low, smooth voice he knew all too well next to his audio receptors as strong, cold arms wrapped around his waist from behind and pulled him flush against the frigid frame behind him. Prowl had to fight from wincing at the sheer shock of cold that swept through him at the saboteur's icy touch.

Prowl briefly wondered how a bot of Jazz's size could manage to sneak up behind him with such grace and apparent ease even with his doorwing's sensors at full capacity. But he quickly dismissed the thought when his processors reminded him of just who this bot truly was.

"I did not leave you, Jazz, merely changed locations to better my strategic advantages while the opportunity presented itself." He turned his helm slightly; taking note of the way the saboteur had buried his face into the back of his neck before continuing. "And with you so deep undercover, there was no plausible situation in which I could have informed you of this change."

It was perfectly legitimate reasoning, they both knew this, but still, as with everything they did, there had to be a catch to be addressed, some point to argue that had not been settled, something of greater value to be gained.

And Jazz was the one to address it. "Ya didn't even leave a message at da previous base." A soft kiss was placed tenderly on the edge of one doorwing, chaste and soothing, and so deceptively calm.

Prowl could feel the need rolling off the other in thick waves, could feel the heat that was beginning to build in that icy spark just a few plates of armor out of his reach. But he could have it, if only he'd give in. But if he did that, there would be no turning back. They'd be tied together for the rest of their functioning, two beings made one for the rest of eternity by the first touching of their sparks, the final union.

Prowl, was not sure he was ready for such a commitment.

"It could not be helped. This transfer was supposed to be done under the radar. It's not even filed in the Lacon archives." He placed his hand over the one that had managed to creep its way across his frame and settle over his spark chamber, rubbing his thumb absently over the black knuckle plating. "You've cleansed recently." Not a question, for he could smell the solvent on the saboteur.

"Ah passed through Decepticon territory ta get here." The explanation was vague, but as this mech's closest confidant, all too clear for the tactician as to what such a statement entailed. He fought the discomfort that threatened to rise at the thought.

"That was dangerous-"

"It was faster." Jazz interrupted with a sharp retort, his arms tightening around the frame in his grasp, becoming almost painful for the Autobot's second in command. "An' ya know the only thin' ah was thinkin' 'bout da whole time ah was getting here?" It was a rhetorical question, and Prowl remained silent, knowing that Jazz needed this time to let go of the horrors he'd no doubt faced on his mission. "I kept thinkin', where's my Prowler 'cause he's not where ah left him and ah can barely feel own hands Ah'm so cold without him."

For a moment, Jazz paused, as though torn, before continuing more silently. "Ah couldn't feel a thing when ah tore dat con's spark right out his chamber an' ah didn't feel a thing when ah tore through da con lines and slaughtered them like drones." A dark look crossed over Jazz's expression as he gently took hold of Prowl's cheek and turned his helm so that they were face to face, and Prowl knew what was coming, as it always did. "Interface with me."

Prowl stared deep into that Primus damned visor for some time, quiet and inspecting, trying to decipher some hidden meaning behind those words, that request. But like all other times before, he could read nothing from that sightless visor, that motionless mouth, and like all the other times before, he could only reach up and place a tender hand on that still too cold cheek.

Prowl sat up carefully, bringing Jazz up with him before he spoke, their fingers still intertwined. "I'm sorry, Jazz, but I don't think we're ready for that step." At those words, the saboteur's entire frame locked up, his grip unintentionally tightening on the tactician's fingers, so much so that warnings popped up on Prowl's display screen.

There was that crazed, intense look again, the likes of which had always sent a chill right to Prowl's spark from the very first day they'd met on that ship all that time ago, so very much like fear, but not completely there. And the saber was silent, right up in the tactician's face and just watching him with that foreboding presence that would send a shiver down even the Prime's back strut; a direct challenge, like a feral animal fighting over precious territory.

This was the moment Prowl had been dreading, this battle of wills.

Jazz wanted more, but Prowl was hesitant, and they both knew they were not ready for this development. They were still too raw, too damaged, too young and full of passion.

This lust and driving need to have companionship was not something they could base a stable relationship on, and if something went wrong and they were to ever split because of their impatience, where would that leave Jazz? The mech was becoming reliant on the warmth and strength he absorbed nightly from Prowl's spark, and if Jazz should be separated from Prowl and denied access to that stable source of life, Prowl dare not even imagine the psychological trauma the mech would face- if tonight's episode across the con boarders was any indicator.

There were very few bots that could accommodate the needs of someone with Jazz's condition, and until a bot like that was found and acquainted with the saboteur and his situation, Prowl would do nothing to threaten their current relationship.

"Jazz, you know why we cannot."

They had had this talk before, so many times, but Jazz was such a passionate mech by nature, and despite the dangers associated with his wishes, he was willing to risk it to become closer to the tactician. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Prowl was not, and there in lied the conflict.

But for all his stubbornness and passion, Jazz was a rational mech as well, and so with one last dark look towards the tactician, he backed down. "Ah know."

Silence loomed over the room for some time after that, but it was not as intense as before, and if one was perceptive enough they could even feel a certain amount of ease creeping between the two bots. Prowl and Jazz had even laid themselves down again, this time Prowl holding Jazz close as the saboteur occasionally grumbled under his breath about stubborn Autobot tacticians and damn precautions.

It was quite an endearing sight.

Finally, after a long moment of just basking in each other's presences, Prowl spoke. "You know, Jazz, there's a cassette carrier named Blaster on this base." He rubbed a hand fondly over Jazz's sensory horns, lulling him into a state of ease. "He seems to have the same partiality for music as you do… and he possesses a spark that may be capable of supporting your own." Prowl added on as a seeming after thought, his rarely seen humorous side creeping out in the presence of the other.

Jazz turned a searching look across the other's face, before a knowing smirk bloomed devilishly across those sinful lips. "The reason for ya transfer?"

Prowl nuzzled his nose against the smirking saboteur's helm. "Strategic advancement, Jazz. The Autobot's second in command would probably get more work done more efficiently if he could get rid of that charge that keeps building up whenever he senses a certain saboteur leering at him for joors on end."

Jazz relaxed into Prowl's embrace, powering down his optics and basking in the tactician's presence, pulling his warm frame closer by the waist, savoring the heat that had begun to build in his spark from the close proximity. "Ah think I like this Blaster already."

Prowl smiled and placed a tender kiss on Jazz's nose. "I know you will."

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><p>Turns out Blaster and Jazz hit it off really well, effectively driving the Autobots up the wall and over the moons of Cybertron with their combined passion for loud, obnoxious music. But Prowl has never regretted his decision to make that transfer, especially not when he found out vorns later he was carrying his first sparkling.<p>

…To this day, the Ark's inhabitants are still unclear as to why they named the sparkling Transfer, but they're sure Prowl, being the sensible bot that he is, has his reasons.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Oh, the Angst, I love the angst. I hoped you enjoyed this chapter as much as I liked writing it- and trust me; I skipped dinner to finish it. All well, time to go eat.

**Please review…**


	7. Mahikashi

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbated. Discrimination against a minority, mentions of detailed deaths, disturbing images and dark themes. Angsty.

**Pairing:** None really, just a mind jogger. (Getting the idea out there.)

**Rating:** T

**Qwertzu**: I am working on the Ratchet/someone(s) fic right now, but I have been kind of dragging my heels a bit due to tiredness. Don't worry though, I will get it done, I just want to make sure I'm properly motivated enough to make it a fic worth reading- since I'll feel guilty if it seems like I'm just trying to blow it off- not just something I typed up while tired to get out of the way. Sorry for the delay…

**Author's Note:** Thank you all **Fianna9**, **Qwertzu**, **Sideslip**, **TfJazz**, **Thalanee**, and **renegadewriter8** for all your reviews! This is something I typed up about three months ago and was going to make into a full-length story, but decided against posting up too many multi-chaptered stories at once. (Secretly hoping someone else will adopt the idea so I can just fan girl it madly.) Please enjoy! Oh yeah, and Pointblank is an OC in this. (Written when I was very new to the fandom.)

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><p><strong>Oneshot- Mahikashi<strong>

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><p><em>In the Golden Age of Cybertron, before the civil war that would split the race in two and destroy their planet, peace reined and prosperity came to those born to its right. For a time all seemed right in the optics of the people. The masses were fed their daily energon and the fractured corners of their world were covered in a veil of shadow. Their optics looked to the light of their rising cities and the practiced smiles of their leaders.<em>

_The dockworker unloaded the cargo of his employer and returned to his family with his hard earned credits, the employer sold his cargo to the businesses of the growing cities and returned to his own with his subspace lined, the businesses sold their wares to the citizens who would then give praise to their leaders for their wealth, and the leaders would look upon the people and smile for they knew they need not touch the hands of the many to be their masters._

_On and on the lives of the masses went, consuming all that would be brought before them as their five-ringed masters drunk from the golden goblet of power, brimming with the endless roar of cheers and cries of the people. But as with any who would greedily feast upon its bounties and drink from the well of privilege, sloth, indulgence, and power drunkenness seeped into the very core of cybertronian culture. In time they wanted more than they were given, when there was so little left to be had._

_The great cities, swollen and humming with unease, began to become aflame as scores of its mobbing citizens took to the streets demanding more than what they had. The masters, hidden within their towers and engorged from the feasts they had for so long privileged those born to the right, had nothing to give when they themselves had yet to have their fill. They too, wanted more then their planet could offer._

_The masses were many, the masters few, and in the many vorns to follow those born to privilege would look upon the many with fear and repulsion for their hostile ways and those born to the masses would looked upon the few with fear and anger for the power they held. The gap between people and masters widened and the voices became lost to the vast abyss that lay before them. They could only see into the lives of the other, for all sound beyond their barrier was quiet to them. Rebellion was brewing._

_A dieing planet, a starving people, and leaders who could no longer speak the language of the masses; all could feel it in the air, the stillness and the tension. Time was slipping by and the gap was growing wider. The leaders had nothing to give that they had not already taken and the masses had nothing to take then what was not already gone. Tensions had to be settled, the gap had to be bridged before the entirety of the race split in two under the weight of a corrupted world, corroded from the vary foundations that formed it._

_Then, when uprising seemed all but inevitable, a…solution was found._

_Primus was bestowing punishment, the priests of the high temples would call out to the masses. They spoke of the Allspark being tainted by the insidious acts of the few who had turned their backs on the very One who'd created them and then callously sought to claim entitlement to His wondrous works by bringing forth tainted life into their cities, their world. They spoke of the few not as children of Primus, but as the bringers of Unicron; children of the Unmaker who sought to destroy their peace and spread chaos and war throughout the whole of Cybertron. And as the masses were ought to do in times of great distress, they believed._

_In the name of Primus, of Cybertron, of all cybertronians, the few were slaughtered, their hands bound and spark chambers ripped open for the scrutiny of the priests and masses before they were tossed to the pits, returned to the very depths of fiery oblivion the priests had so feverishly spoken of. And the masses would cheer as the metal would peel from the very bodies of their captives, the roar of the many blocking out the anguished cries and screams of the few as the many drunk their energon and praised their leaders for their guidance, as it was meant to be._

_In the name of Primus, of Cybertron, of all cybertronians, the creations of the few were ripped from the very spark chambers of their creators and forced into a frame of metal forged from the remnants of the few long since thrown to the pits, coverless, to reveal their tainted spark to all. Then the young life would be cleansed, baptized in great barrels of acid that slowly corroded their frames to nothing as their sparks dissolved. Their wails of pain and panic, confusion and fear would pull a mighty cheer from the gathered masses as the priests would pull the young one back under the cleansing acids to complete the purification again and again. And when the decontamination was complete the empty, mutilated shells of the newborns would be placed at the temple steps to appease their great Primus, as testament that their tainted sparks would never make it to the Allspark._

_For vorns the masses hunted the few in hopes of appeasing their Primus, in hopes of reviving their slowly dieing planet with the spilt energon of the tainted. Even a whisper as to the identity of one of the hunted was enough to rally the masses into frenzy, sending the planet into a time of darkness where brother turned against brother and suspicion was in the sparks of all. Many were accused of association with the few and many more were killed in the name of peace. There were few who did not agree with the mass's idea of tainted sparks destroying their world, but there were fewer still who spoke out against it and fewer still that did survive._

_The few: those who were capable of creating life, or as the priests had proclaimed, a perversion of life, from within their very spark chambers. To give new life that was not of the Allspark, as the priests would say, was a sick distortion of the natural order._

_The few were given a name, one that would follow them far into the future, even as the masses fell into a civil war that would forever destroy their home planet despite their leader's efforts to prevent it. Tainted Ones, Bringers of Unicron, Infection, Children of Discord, The Plague, all titles labeled upon them since the beginning of the Hunts, but ironically, it would be the very name they'd given themselves that would forever remain in the minds of those who'd lived long enough to remember the days of the Hunts. They were called Mahikashi: The Damned._

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><p>From deep within the confines of an uncharted ship, lost within the vastness of the farthest reaches of the universe, smoothly floating through the infinite void of space, a voice rose, ringing through the hollow belly of the ship, echoing into the silence.<p>

"We are not of the people, for they will not have us! We are not children of Primus, for He will not have us either! We are known to them as the Infection of Cybertron, Bringers of Unicron himself, Children of Chaos, A Virus, filthy, unworthy, tainted; we are the means by which they have kept their peace, and now that the spilling of our energon can not longer keep that peace, we are forgotten and tossed aside."

A quiet keen of anguish was heard in the silence of the ship's hull, followed by an uproar of indignant cries from the bots gathered together in their small vessel.

The speaker raised a single hand, and all was quiet again. "Yes. We have been tossed aside, used ruthlessly so that those with power may keep it, and those without power may obtain it for what little time they could. But why should this bother us? Is it not the first time we have been used, abused, killed, and tossed aside when they deem we have _served_ our _purpose_?" Deliberate pause. "They are not of us, and we are not of them. They are cybertronians, children of Primus, and we…we are Mahikashi! He is not our God, for we are not of him, but as we always have, we will survive! We are Mahikashi!"

A roar of approval flooded the ship, echoed off every wall and crowded every corner. The endless cheers made deaf the audio receptors of those in the hull, but still they cheered louder as the joy over took them. The war had begun, and with it they could look to a future where they would be able to live out their lives in peace, forever forgotten by the very people they had once, very long ago, called their own.

Tossed aside after their spilt Energon could no longer appease the cybertronian God, forgotten as the war consumed the planet, they'd escaped into the farthest reaches of space, away from the fighting. Now they were free, out of reach of the very people who had sough to annihilated them for so long: they, the Mahikashi.

However, they were not as forgotten as they believed.

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><p><strong>Chapter One Beginning Part…<strong>

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><p><em>The vorns have passed and the memories of those long forgotten now stir within the consciousness of a people who once more look to their leaders for hope, a hope that cannot be so easily given in fear that the many shall see deception in words that may never be. It is a tense time, as it has always been, the weight of the many's voices crying out for guidance from an unknown enemy. But now there are no enemies in this conflict but the ones within and the voices of the masters remain silent.<em>

_The war is over, ended by the thrusting of a blade and the stroke of a signature signed in energon upon cool metal, a dark chapter in the history of a people seeped so intimately in war passed by like a dream long since spoiled by the dawning of awareness, the opening of weary optics to a world that had once been their own. Gone._

_The whispers are more deafening than the mightiest battle cry, a flicker of doubt in the optics of one more menacing than the cold stares of all. The enemy is gone, replaced by whispered doubts sparked from the stillness peace brings, passed from glossa to glossa with a growing unease. A beast set free by war and caged by peace, growing ever restless, prowling the cages edges with sharp, narrowed optics._

_The Allspark had been destroyed during the great struggles of the war, forever lost to the cybertronians- perhaps as Primus's last punishment upon his children. But the people may never know for the priests are no more and the One has grown silent to even their Prime. It is uncertain if the blessed race will ever again win the favor of Primus, but the many will continue to fall to their knees, bare their necks in surrender, and beg for deliverance as they always have. But still, their God does not answer._

_They are a dieing race, a race abandoned by their God, a race that has destroyed all that had been gifted to them in the pursuit of power and the feel of a golden goblet in their grasp. The people cry out in distress, seeking small hands and faces that will never be, the warmth of a young one against their spark casings: new life to fill the void of old tragedies._

_The people have become desperate, their patience wearing thin in the growing turmoil of festering hope, and the masters know they must act. Once more their world is thrown into darkness, leaving the optics of many shifty and the sparks of many more sweeping. They seek a light that may never come, a light they had never acknowledged until it was snuffed out by their own hand._

_They had damned themselves._

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><p>Booming voices and harsh tones overwhelmed the wide spaces of the council floor, seeming to set ablaze the atmosphere as tempers mount and frantic debate turned to heated confrontation. There is much said in those tense times yet very little heard, and even those with the loudest voices are drowned out in the chaos. The call for silence goes unheard by the gathered bots vying for their share of influence, the shrill ring from a shock call little more than white noise to their audio receptors and the pulsing of energon rushing through their lines.<p>

The weary optics of those who've held their silence throughout flicker subdued glances to their Prime, a strange glint of something understood only in processor passing through their seemingly listless gazes. There is something to be said about how much can be communicated amongst old companions with the mere nod of a helm or the flicker of tight lips upon familiar faceplates. It is an understanding few shall ever know.

The Prime sighs silently to avoid being heard by the tempered councilmen, his optics dimming in a growing frustration. Taking one last weeping glance across the room he comes to an gradual stand, frame raised magnificently above his subjects, seeming to cast those before him in shadow though not a single shade of such is evident upon their frames. The room falls silent.

One last observation of the mechs before him and the Prime speaks. "My fellow councilmen, I am not ignorant of the unrest among my people and I understand your concern. However, I am inclined to calmly offer my opinion in the way you have chosen to handle these state of affairs-"

"He means you're wasting his time with your pointless squabbling." The Prime's head medic chose to step in at that moment, icy blue optics narrow and arms firmly crossed, his own ire having been on the exponential increase throughout the entirety of the meeting, if it could be rightfully called that.

After an astrosecond or so of staring helplessly towards the ever-blunt Ratchet, Optimus finally managed to speak. "Well, yes- in so many words." The Prime cleared his intakes, turning his attention back to the either aghast or mortified councilmen. "I have heard your concerns." He continued on steadfastly, back straight and chassis held steady. "But in these times so early after the war and the destruction of the Allspark-" A slight hitch in his vocals, but it was hardly noticed. "-there is nothing to be done about our inability to produce sparklings at this present date. We simply do not have the means by which to create new sparks without the assistance of the Allspark."

A heavy silence settled over the room as though the weight of their entire race resting upon their shoulders, which was actually truer than any of them would have liked to admit since clearly they did not have the answers their restless people desired. It was a time of desperation and uncertainty.

In that moment of condemned resignation a word was uttered, so low had the room not been silent it would have passed unheard, but be it coincidence or fate the Prime heard it just as he had turned to look directly to the soft-spoken mech.

For a moment the Prime locked optics with the elder mech who'd remained silent throughout the entirety of the congregation thus far, searching those fatigued faceplates for some deeper meaning. Optimus saw an unfathomable pain in those optics, a shame and a deeply ingrained wisdom only vorns of experience can bring, before his helm lowered. That was when Optimus knew there was more to be addressed in this matter than any of them could have ever imagined.

The old ones knew things.

Squaring his shoulders he addressed the now silent mech. "Councilmen Pointblank. May I ask you to please repeat that?"

The mech glanced up as though startled by the Prime's words, but in such a way that it seemed he'd been expecting to be addressed. His face was still, lips drawn in a pained line, optics bright but unseeing before they dimmed, as though lost within the ripples of time.

Coming back to himself, Pointblank finally repeated. "Mahikashi." And he cringed at the word as though the very utterance of it burned his glossa. His shame was evident, his pain even more so.

"A myth produced by the processors of old fools before the war." A younger councilman designated Roadrage snarled harshly, casting a condescending glower towards the much older mech. "What business has such folly he-"

"Hold your glossa youngling, or I shall remove it." Ratchet snapped, his tone holding no lie.

Optimus nodded his thanks to the medic and motioned for Pointblank to continue.

With a tired shake of his head the elder proceeded, but now much more solemn. "I do not fault young Roadrage for being unaware of the long history regarding the Mahikashi, nor do I expect any of you to know much more on the matter than the few tales that have been passed down the ranks from glossa to glossa." Another shake of his head before his optics, clouded in a haze of bitter memories, sought out every mech within the room. "Discard all you thought you knew about the Mahikashi for those tales are lies fabricated by the former priests of the Allspark temple."

There was uproar from the younger mechs, rage burning in their optics at the brazen way any bot, even so old, could speak such treachery of the former priests. It was unheard of amongst the Autobot ranks and had not been so common among the Decepticons either, but the Prime once more raised his hand and all grew silent.

"Please continue." Optimus encouraged, now genuinely interested in what a mech of such obvious knowledge had to say. There were not many left who remembered the days of old and Optimus himself had been a relatively young bot at the beginning of the war.

After taking a moment to recollect his thoughts the elder bot continued. "Before I can explain just who the Mahikashi are I must first warn you that what you are about to hear will not be easy-" His old, wise optics shuttered once, a shamed grimace flickering over his faceplates. "Nor pleasant. Nonetheless, you must all bear witness to this."

Many in the room remained motionless, save the brief shuttering of a councilmen's optics and the drumming of another's fingers against the table's edge. They did not believe; could not comprehend the weight of the old one's words for they had not seen the tragedies that he had witnessed in his long years. The old one shook his helm. But they would soon enough.

"As I am sure you are all aware, the war begun after vorns of confrontation between the lower and higher casts, chiefly due to the imbalance of power and the depleting of our planet's resources." His face contorted into a pained frown. "However, that time before the Great War is greatly shrouded in secrecy, its records said to have been lost in the initial clashes of the two fractions." His optics flashed. "That is a lie. I know this." A long pause, the far off look in the elder's optics revealing to all the inner turmoil. "I will never forget. I was the one ordered to destroy the documents containing records of our planet's disgrace. The records of the existence of the Mahikashi."

Pointblank shuttered suddenly, so violently his armor rattled with the effort to suppress it, the rims of his optics beginning to mist over, unseeing. "I- I was there. I saw it all. I saw everything; everything and I did nothing to stop it. Like a coward I hid and told myself that I could do nothing." His grip on the chair arm tightened, leaving dents in the thick metal, tense. "Even my own friend. I turned him in because I was afraid that they'd find me and kill me just like the rest of them. I didn't want to die, He- he said he-"

The mech was unexpectedly pulled from his memory-induced hysteria by the placing of a firm hand upon his arm, gripping the armor in a reassuring grasp. Still he shook.

"My friend." The Prime's voice said soothing, not wanting to further discomfort the already distraught mech. "Do you perhaps have memory files that can be shared, if you are not yet ready to tell us of your experience."

The mech looked up at the taller mech, his face twisted into an unfathomable expression before he nodded tightly and shakily reached to his wrist, pulling out a thin data chip that would download selective memory files into a data package.

"This-" He began quietly, helm lowering as he gently held the chip in his hands, staring down at it with an eternally wounded expression. "Is a copy of the original records before I destroyed them, as well as my own memories of that time."

He turned his near dead stare up towards his Prime and sunk in on himself, hiding himself from that sympathetic gaze. But that soft, knowing gaze never yielded and the comfort they gave the old mech only served to make him feel ever more dirtier, unworthy. He wished only to suffer. Hatred he could handle but compassion killed him inside. He did not deserve kindness, he had decided long ago as he's watched energon pooling beneath him, reflecting his lost expression within its warm depths, because he had abandoned those who needed him first.

After a while, he spoke again. "I could not bring myself to forget. Nor ever let the memories of those who've passed be forgotten. Please do not take compassion on me young Prime. I only ever find peace when I remember that my end is near and Primus himself shall decide my punishment." And sometimes when he remembered the gentle optics that had gazed upon him in those last moments before they went dim forever, the old mech wished he'd burn in the pits for all eternity.

The large hand did not move but instead tightened in reassurance. "We all make decisions we regret my friend, and many more we cannot take back, but-" His optics softened further, trying to lend strength to the distraught mech. "Only by honoring the memories of those who have passed on can we amend for those lost."

Pointblank's optics flickered back to brightness for the briefest of moments, casting those about the room a vacant glance before finally turning to face his Prime. "Some things cannot be forgiven." And with that he handed the chip to the Prime, hastily got to his feet and pulled his arm from the taller bot's grip, almost tripping over himself in his rush to get to the door.

The Prime let him go, because he knew this was a battle the old mech had to fight alone, as some battles were.

Before the mech fully exited the room though, he stopped. Slowly, he turned that haunted stare towards the Prime and for the first time did not flinch in meeting his optic. "May you be forgiven for your ancestor's past transgression against Primus' people." And then he was gone; nothing more than a flicker of memory in their long, long lives.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Well, to be truthful I'll probably never get a full story out of this due to college coming up. However, I encourage anyone how'd like to adopt the idea to do so and do with it as they please- just tell me so I can read the story please!

Story details for if anyone's wondering where some of the key characters (Officers) are: Prowl, Wheeljack, Perceptor, Red Alert are carriers in this, along with some other non-officer bots.

**Please review…**


	8. Learn

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbated. Slight hurt/comfort, angst, and brief mention of death.

**Pairing:** Ratchet/First Aid

**Rating:** T

**Author's Note:** Thank you **Forever Dreaming Grace**, **Qwertzu**, **renegadewriter8** and **random anonymous person** for all your reviews! I chose the Ratchet/First Aid pairing because it is less common then Twins/Ratchet and I want to expand my horizons. Hope you enjoy **Qwertz**!

(**Edited…**)

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><p><strong>Prompt: Learn<strong>

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><p>The atmosphere in the medbay left much to be desired, the ins and outs of critically injured patients through the never resting doors were lost in the mixture of anguished screams and grieving wails that echoed and smeared together into a sea of white noise along once pristine walls and floors. The calls of young medics over the offbeat harmony of flat lining machines pierced the chaos for but a few moments of coherency before the voice was lost amongst the uproar of the many. All was panic in the roars and cries of frightened soldiers and inexperienced medics, all was pandemonium in the smoldering heat of a crowded room with too much activity and not enough order, an endless battle without a winner, a field soon to be emptied of players, awaiting the next round of devastation.<p>

And then he appeared, graduated from the academy at the top of his class and brimming with enough passion to run the entire Autobot army with its ferocity; the head medic's new assistant.

There hadn't been anything particularly extraordinary in the white expanse of his chassis nor the standard red that littered his frame, nor the gray chevron placed upon his forehelm. He was neither exceptionally small nor large, neither too slight nor too thick in build, a standard frame with a standard medic's paint job. But there was something in the way he walked, that brisk, confident stride as he marched straight into the center of the chaos with his optics level and his hands steady, something in the was spoke, that strict, near snarling roar that sent a quiver of fear down every medic's spinal cord, that turned every helm his way and had every readily able hand conceding to his will.

And the young upstart with his trembling hands and his visored gaze, with only his prior training after his activation date to rely upon and his sheer determination to end the suffering of his fellow Autobots, could only watch with wide, blue optics as the mech took the entirety of the medbay under his iron fist.

"You, get those monitors cleared and that station ready for an emergency energon transfusion. You, move him to the depressurizing chamber and set the manual setting to half pass the 503.75 mark. You, standing there like a glitch, ready the berth for operation on a fractured chamber cable and prep the equipment. I don't want to risk an infection. You, get those three out of here, they're taking up space that could be used for another patient. And you-" The young medic met the other's hardened gaze for the briefest of moments at being addressed so suddenly, a flush of something warm and pleasant tingled at the base of his spark chamber before the new arrival continued. "Come with me and bring that sedative and the magnetizer. I need your assistance in realigning a severed spinal cord." And without another word the new medic turned away and set off to tend to the wildly screeching mech whose back was arched at a most peculiar angle and had a thick, wire-laden rod stabbing along his shoulder.

After a short, stunned pause in which his processor was still trying to regulate the sudden, unexpected flush of _something_ through his young systems, the smaller medic finally came back to himself. "Yes, sir." He breathed quickly, nearly a gasp as he hurriedly grabbed the needed equipment from the table beside him and scurried off after the retreating medic.

The young upstart watched in wonder as the newest medic drove single-mindedly into the operations at hand, his piercing blue gaze intense with scrutiny and determination, his thin lips drawn back in concentration as he connected two frayed wires or pulled into a scowl as he cursed and barked orders, hands steady and precise, never a single movement wasted with unnecessary motion, never a stray injury left unmended.

And he watched, his young face slack in awe and hands ready to obey at a moment's notice, posture alert and optics focused despite all else, but his spark tightly woven with sensations he had never felt before, like a fluttering kiss lingering against his spark. And he watched as those life-giving hands reached towards him, demanding the device within his grasp with the same certainty that he did everything else. And the young medic listened as he was instructed as to how to save a mech's life, to do what this amazing medic before him did. And he felt something settle delicately within his spark.

That day, the young medic learned the meaning of hero worship.

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><p>"First Aid! What are you doing? I need to finish my reports and I can't very well do that with you standing in front of my office door now can I? Move!" Ratchet scowled, trying to project as much authority and annoyance into his voice as he could muster with so little energy reserves left, but as so many times before, he just couldn't put any bite behind the words, and in the end, the younger medic stood his ground.<p>

Though that did not mean First Aid was not effected they the prospect of becoming to cause of his mentor's frustration.

With a heavy sigh, First Aid spoke. "You have not left the medbay for four days now, Ratchet. While I know that our cycles are different from the human's, it is still not healthy for you to lock yourself for joors on end in your office." At the narrowing of the rather temperamental medic's optics, First aid amended. "We're worried about you."

Ratchet shook his helm, knowing that his assistant was right, that his habit of continuous work without recharge or refueling on a regular basis was not beneficial to his health, but still he could not bring himself to break the vicious cycle. He just- couldn't bring himself to leave the medbay unattended, and even with First aid and Swoop present, he still felt that way. So many lives had been lost when he wasn't there, when he'd let his guard down for even an instance.

How could he keep away from the one place he was useful when the memories haunted him every joor of every cycle of his functioning when he was not within reach of his life saving equipments.

It was not till a gentle hand had wrapped around his wrist and begun to pull him away from the office door that he noticed he had been beginning to drift off with the tide of his memories, his systems involuntarily slowing to a sedated pace and his optic dimming to reserve power.

At first he tried to tug away, a token gesture that just came with the temperament he possessed, but soon settled for sulking in defeat and following the other silently. In truth he had no intention of hurting the other by using force, or making a spectacle of himself as he was dragged through the rec room to retrieve energon- unable to free himself due to his low energy levels. Still, he felt uneasy, but at least with his assistants close at hand the thought of leaving the medbay did not fill him with dread as it had once did before he'd met First Aid.

"Do not worry Ratchet, Swoop will watch over medbay until you are ready to return." First Aid said lightly while turning to give the Dinobot a brief nod, trying to sooth over the restlessness he knew must be boiling away under the surface of those too sharp optics and too stern posture.

Ratchet grunted in acceptance, casting a glance over to the tall, robotic pterodactyl standing naught bot a few berths away, catching the sight shift in those all too familiar optics and that steadfast expression, not liking the implications of the Swoop's searching stare as it flickered from his mentor to his fellow assistant.

The Dinobots were not gifted with numbers nor words, had no means of understanding most abstract concepts nor predicting possible futures beyond what they understood and could grasp with both hands, but they were by no means lesser beings. They were of a practical nature, seeing only what the world presented to them, obvious things that so many tended to overlook till it was pointed out to them, so caught up in their abstract thinking as most were. And Ratchet did not like the knowing glean in those too open optics watching him and First Aid with something resembling amusement.

"Me Swoop understands. Swoop will watch over medbay 'til creator Ratchet and First Aid returns." The Dinobot tilted his helm a bit, but chose to remain silent.

Of all the Dinobot brothers, Swoop was the only one besides Snarl who knew when to keep his observations to himself, and for that Ratchet was thankful. But still, even as he allowed himself to be led to the rec room's energon dispenser, he still could not shake the memory of that expectant look Swoop had so often fixed upon him in the presence of First Aid, waiting patiently as only a predator of Swoop's nature could.

Because not long after the day he'd first seen that youthful, trusting face gaze to him with such admiration, those too inexperienced hands working to be everything Ratchet had been forced to become, and heard that soft, but all so determined voice sooth a patient in his last moments, Ratchet knew he'd never be able to forget the young medic who'd stolen his spark with a single selfless gaze.

That day, the old medic learned the meaning of pure love.

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><p>However, a few short deca-cycles later, the two medics somehow found themselves locked in a small, out-of-the-way operations room near the back of the medbay, unable to open the door without a specific password or phrase- which ever it was- and their comm. picking up naught but static.<p>

Luckily, they managed to get the blasted door open by the next cycle, unluckily, only to be met with the 'oh so pleased' smile Swoop was flaunting about at them for the rest of that cycle. Not even one of Ratchet's infamous rants could dampen that grin any.

That day, both medics learned that Swoop was a sneaky little fragger who was not nearly as innocent as many made him out to be.

Still, they thank Primus every chance they remember that Ratchet's creation was never so big on subtlety, if the password 'I love you' is any indication.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Swoop you sneaky bugger! But I love you anyway. Anyway, I'm going to be doing some editing on this story soon, so if you suddenly see an influx of chapters coming and going you now know why. Hope you enjoyed it!

**Please review...**


	9. Mahikashi End of CH I

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbated. Discrimination against a minority, mentions of detailed deaths, disturbing images and dark themes. Angsty. This story will not be getting any lighter until the next segment or so.

**Pairing:** None so far. (This is just a story to get ideas going.)

**Rating:** T

**Author's Note:** Thank you **Moonlight black rose**, **Qwertzu**, **TfJazz**,** Starfire201**, and **Fianna9 **for all your reviews! I know I say that all the time, but it honestly just makes my day knowing that there are others who find some amount of pleasure in reading what I have to offer. I'm still all giddy inside.

Anyway, I got some great feedback from the _Mahikashi_ segment I posted up a little while back, and though I still encourage others to adopt the idea and use it as they will, decided to write about it bit by bit since it's still very much a muse for me. One day I may even take all the little bits and move them to their own story. Please enjoy, and if you become depressed by this, I very much recommend seeklet or sparkling fluff as a counter for the sadness. That always makes my day a little brighter.

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><p><strong>Prompt- Mahikashi: End of chapter one.<strong>

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><p><em>So it passed that the young masters of a new world forged from a signature signed in energon gathered together once more in gleaming towers to bridge the gap once more forming between the masters and the many. So it passed that the young masters bore witness to the sins of their reverent ancestors, acts of suffering not even their Primus could condole. And as they bore witness to the shame of their race, they too became stained by it, this dark chapter in the lives of a people whose history is seeped in war.<em>

_They bore witness to The Hunts, The Cleansing, and the suffering placed upon the few in the name of Primus, of Cybertron, of all cybertronians, and they too saw the roar of the crowd as the few where thrown to the smelting pits and their creations baptized in great barrels of acid. They bore witness to the delight of the many as the few's armor were pealed back from their protoforms in a swirl of withering surrender, and they bore witness to how the many would cheer as the mutilated frames of the few's creations were melted to mercury tears that streamed through the priest's ringed fingers._

_The master of this new world remained silent, optics shifting as one's gaze does in the presence of an unsettling truth, and hands clenched as they watched the world they had once sought to restore was shrouded in a veil of shadow, where brother turned against brother and all was in chaos. And among the new masters of a world forged from a signature signed in energon, a stumbling gasp from trembling lips was heard as they bore witness to the violation of a young one with gold optics for the sake of Primus, of Cybertron, of all cybertronians, and yet another as the mercury tears of a newborn's mutilated frame was smeared over the spark casing of its creator, bound by chains to the floor before the alter of Primus._

_The screams of those so brutally ripped to pieces before the alter of Primus by the once life-giving hands of their own kin with red crosses upon their frames, their fellow cybertronians made monsters in the face of an uncontrollable fear, upon the live feed above them like the mirrored gaze of Primus himself was drowned out by the enraged roar of the new masters, the image of their hellish origins laid bare before their optics more than many could bare. And the new master with the red crosses upon his shoulders and the red life-giving hands by his side was silent, for his horror was that of the silent kind, a rage without name, unspeakable._

_One young master fled the great tower of steel and privilege once bathed in the long forgotten energon of those whom had once been their own, away from the sight of an unfathomable evil. Another put a hand to his mouth, his glossa burning from screams unheard and cries withheld. And yet another turned away, and muttered a silent prayer._

_And the Prime, who'd given all he was to built this new world of peace and sanctuary for his people with a signature signed in energon with his own hands upon the grayed frames of his enemies, could not look away as he watched the many cheer and rejoice, a sea of red and blue, of red and purple, of Autobot and Decepticon made one in a common goal, and the cries of a single child with tears on his face trapped in their mist, bound and laid open for all to see._

_The voices of the many were rising, frenzying into a hum of celebration and devotion to their God as they beat the young child day after day after day till the energon upon the ground had long since run cold and the young one had stilled upon the sullied land, his hands still bound and his exposed spark chamber long since cast into shadow. But still the fists did not cease, sill the kicks did not stop, still the chanting continued._

"_Kill them, kill them, kill them all. Kill the Disease, kill the Viruses, kill the Tainted ones, kill the Infected, kill the Unicron spawns. Kill them, kill them, kill the Mahikashi. For Primus, for Cybertron, for all cybertronians, let us cleanse the world of evil."_

_And a single tear slid silently down the face of the Prime who had given all he was to built this new world of peace and sanctuary for his people with a signature signed in energon with his own hands upon the grayed frames of his enemies._

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> This is so twisted! Is it just me or does this story seem to be the epitome of angst. I don't now, but if I do write more on this soon I'll be sure to make it a bit more uplifting. Poor Optimus, he wants so much for his people to live in peace and achieve happiness, so much so that he was willing to dirty himself to do it, and now he learns about this. i just want to hug him better.

I know this chapter segment is short, but I haven't been in the mood to write anything too long of late. Peace Out Peoples!

**Please review…**


	10. Watcher

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbetaed.

**Pairing:** Mirage/Hound

**SIDE NOTE:** Despite their presence still being known in this story, I have decided to place my Mahikashi bits into it's own story so that I can make it into its own full length piece. (Read **AN** in '_Mahikashi_' story for details…)

**AN:** **Sideslip**,** Eikuu Hyo**,** Fianna9**, and **TfJazz**, thank you all so much for taking the time to not only read and appreciate my story bits, but also for reviewing on them. This is from the '_Warmth_' AU starring Mirage and Hound. I hope you all like it!

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><p><strong>Prompt: Watcher<strong>

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><p>Hound was not sure what to make of this newest mech, this silent enigma with his cold expression and sharp optics, frame near slick as his venomous tongue and his armor glowing as though touched by Primus himself. This mech, Mirage he'd been told, was special ops, one of the best right under Jazz himself, and as such as illusive as they came. Yet, Hound could not shake the feeling that he was missing something about the mech, that despite his skills he could not see far enough to something dark and unspeakably sad, like a silent echo beneath empty skies.<p>

Sometimes, when he thought no one would notice, he'd sneak a glance towards the mysterious mech, hidden away in his dark corner from everyone else, and wonder why someone like him, so cold and bitter, would willingly join those in the rec room when he obviously held no interest in socializing with them. It was strange, an inconsistency in behavior that puzzled Hound endlessly, made him eager to understand this new mech as he strove to do with all the mechs he worked with. But…

There was also something unfathomably frightening about him. Something in the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he stared into ones optics and seemed to know what lay within. It was not because he had once been a Tower's noble either, for status had never been an obstacle for the tracker. There was just something about Mirage that made Hound uneasy, as though he knew intuitively that there was danger hidden within those blue depths.

And now those icy-blue optics had caught his own, steady, cold, leaving Hound too entranced by the intensity of that gaze to look away even as he inwardly writhed at the prickling on his armor. And it wasn't the pleasant kind of tingle either, but the kind you get just before a plasma gun is shot off in your face.

Mirage mouth twitched and Hound flinched away.

Something was off about him.

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><p>Hound was tense, plating tingling, like small micro-bots crawling into the seams of his armor or fine-tipped claws lightly skimming down his chassis, making him want to squirm and writhe at the sensations. But he resisted the temptation of doing so. He was sure he was being watched, and he did want the intruder to know he could sense him.<p>

Or maybe the intruder already knew.

He had been trying to pinpoint the intruder for some time, using his highly acute sense of smell to track the faintest scents in the air. But all that had been in vain, for he realized shortly after that whoever was hidden within the room was standing down shift of the venting air circulating through the small space in such a way that detection by scent was near impossible. The intruder's scent was too light; it easily blended with the mild scents that flowed from the vents, giving no indication as to a potential suspect.

However, he could conclude one thing from the mixture of scents. The individual hidden somewhere just out of his reach was an Autobot. He did not know if that reassured him of his own safety- or made him feel more uncomfortable.

It was a well known fact that Jazz was not a normal mech, that there had always been something off about him, something in the way he stared at anyone who passed him, and especially at Prowl. It was not that he was not a nice bot, because he was one of the most agreeable ones he could think of so long as he'd not been away from the SIC for too long, but there was just so many unknowns about the saboteur.

Quite literally, the bot had just come waltzing into the control center at Prowl's side shortly after the SIC's disappearance and begun to make small talk with the Prime, The Prime, as though they'd been friends their entire functioning. Scared the pit out of the crew, and Red Alert had suffered from a glitch at how laid-back Prowl had been about this unknown variable being in such close contact with their leader. Prime, for his part, merely smiled, as he was known to do in those sorts of situations, and took the unknown bot's hand in greeting before inquiring Prowl as to his status.

Prowl had confirmed his health and his activities prior to boarding the Ark and then instructed Jazz to do the same.

Things had only gotten weirder from there.

Soon, various bots of all shapes and sizes had begun to appear from pit knows where, rallying together under Jazz's leadership and filling a new division freshly created in the Autobot's chain of command; the Special Operations Division, A.K.A, Special Ops.

The new division undoubtedly pulled its weight, having finally put the Autobots on par with the Decepticon's wide array of sabotage technology, but some of its members were down right terrifying at the best of times. Their personality spectrums spanned from the one known as Bumblebee, with his good cheer and kind smiles, to Mirage, with his cold expression and biting words. However, they all shared one key attribute that made them offsetting to many: their optics, those intense, sharp stares that simply ravaged the spark. There was just something _dangerous_ about them.

And now, as so many times since the arrival of those new mechs, Hound could feel the intensity of one of those stares upon him, watching him in a way that could be perceived as threatening- though it was not quite like that, but more like an apex predator trying to decipher the worth of hunting potential prey. Hound could not say the sensation frightened him, but that did not make it any less unnerving.

A particular shift in air movement caught Hound's attention, the sudden gush of scent that was not in uniform with the steady current rippling over his sensitive net grid. He recognized the familiar mix of cool, crisp metal and muted wax immediately.

"Mirage. What are you doing here?" Just as the last word slipped from his glossa, the cool, smooth blade of a dagger was pressed to his throat in warning, pressing, but not enough to cut the metal beneath; a hairsbreadth away from death.

The scent that had at one point been so mild and near nonexistent was now overpowering, now a mixture of cool metal, mild wax, and startlingly, heat vapor, something Hound had never smelt on this particular bot before. It was as though ice was turning directly to steam, building up inside the mech's chassis. An odd thought, one on which Hound did not dwell.

"Jazz said not to kill you." The other said evenly, his soft voice holding no inflection, and with the mech's invisibility programs activated, Hound had naught an expression to decipher from. Not that the other's expression often changed anyway, but even just seeing the other's face would have put a wide array of his worries at ease.

There was a long, awkward silence, for Hound at least, as he attempted to put two and two together, finding he had absolutely no idea as to why this was all happening in the first place. It crossed his thoughts to ask Mirage '_why_', as in, '_why are you doing this in the first place_', but in light of the previous statement, wisely decided against it. This mech did not seem to be riding on all four tires, if one knew what he meant.

Mirage must have seen the bewildered, and slightly alarmed, look across the tracker's face though, because he continued with the same even tone as before. "He said I'd regret it." With that the invisible bot took the dagger's edge away from the other's neck cables so that the other could swallow the dryness that had encroached within his throat, but did not move away, as though not quite sure himself why he was doing this, any of this, in the first place. "I want to believe him. That he has found a cure to our ailment."

That caught Hound's attention. "Ailment?"

Finally, a flicker of something, and Hound knew the other was beginning to gradually let his cloaking device fade away, beginning to relax. In turn, be it sheer instinct to the other's drop in defensiveness or some unexplainable trust in the other mech, Hound relaxed as well. It seemed to be enough.

They stayed that way for longer than either of them cared to keep track, Hound still lying prone on his berth, now completely at ease and beginning to once more dose off despite the other's presence, and Mirage's half visible silhouette sitting regally beside the other, not looking at Hound, but off into the room corner. It was strange, like this had always been their state of being, this companionable feeling of understanding.

It was a very strange thing to witness, the silent acceptance between tracker and predator.

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><p>Hound is not sure when it had occurred, but sometime during the night he must have slipped into recharge, because when next he came into awareness the other's scent had lingered away into a faint wisp of cool metal and faded wax. And for some reason, Hound was not pleased to have woken up alone.<p>

With a groan, Hound rubbed at his faceplates with the grogginess of someone who'd not recharged well the night previous and wondered silently if it had all just been a trick of his processors, and if he was just incoherent enough to be imagining the scent still lingering in his sensory net, because it all seemed just to surreal to have been true.

Mirage: cold, silver-tongued, prim and proper Mirage sitting beside him all night as he slipped into recharge. Yeah, defiantly a recharge flex.

So with a stretch and an endearing yawn bordering on light laughter, Hound fully woke to the world and wondered briefly why the berth beside him was so cold- and why his spark seemed to warm at the cool metal beneath his hand.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Oh, Hound and Mirage are so fluffy, even though Mirage was being all cold and saying things like '_Jazz said not to kill you_.' I hope when next I write about them they will get to snuggle properly!

**Please review…**


	11. Last Night

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbated. Major references to interfacing.

**Pairing:** Jazz/Perceptor

**AN:** Thank you **Sideslip**, **TfJazz**, **Qwertzu**, and **Fianna9** for all your lovely reviews. It makes me happy to know I'm not the only one who enjoys these certain kinks and such I have. This is just a fluffy, post-smut cuddle fic to lighten up the atmosphere after the '_Mahikashi_' and '_Warmth_' series bits I've been hounding on you all. I hope you all enjoy the change in mood.

(**Edited…**)

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><p><strong>Prompt: Last Night<strong>

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><p>Slowly, very slowly he could feel his systems flickering on one by one, could hear the gentle hum of his processor beginning to stir and the beeping of his control center rebooting itself. There was an ache throughout his frame that, though not much of a hinder, seemed to center within the confines of his helm; a migraine of mass proportions. He knew he had for some inexplicable reason indulged in the consumption of high-grade.<p>

Groaning incoherently, the bot rolled over and planted his face firmly into the soft foam-like material beneath him, letting himself relax into the unusually malleable material. He spared a brief moment to question why his berth seemed so much more padded than he was use to, but quickly chalked it up to the aftereffects of too much high-grade and his half wakeful state.

A light sensation feathered up his shoulder plates and he twitched at the sensation, silently cursing the leftover charge that was no doubt messing with his still groggy systems. It came again and this time he swatted at the area with his hand halfheartedly with the intent of dispelling the charge.

The touch came again, firmer this time, and a shiver ran down his spinal strut until it settled in his peds, making them tingle.

There was a light chuckle.

He froze, frame tensing and all systems now running at full capacity. The energon in his lines felt as though they had frozen all at once and his spark lurched painfully against its casing in shock. He waited with bated intakes.

"Well, isn't this 'n unexpected surprise, Percy." A low, rumbling purr beside him vibrated throughout the berth, setting off small static sensations through his circuits, trudging up vague memories of last night's events less than sparkling-friendly activities.

His systems heated up in embarrassment as he bolted upright in the berth, turning to face the other bot still lying stretched erotically over the soft padding.

Oh Primus, what had he done last lunar cycle? And with his long-time crush of all mechs!

"O-oh my. Dare I in-inqu-quire as to the activities w-we engaged in last c-cycle?" Perceptor stuttered out weakly, hiding his face from the other with his hands as securely as he could manage.

His hands smelt of post-interface and lubricants. His faceplates heated at the realization.

"Hn." The other hummed contently, obviously reliving the entirety of last cycle's activates anew with a relish the scientist could not even fathom. Perceptor buried his face deeper into his hands, doing his best to ignore the smell he knew all too well on his palms. "Well, if ah recall correct, an' we both know ah do, dan' ah'd have ta say ah dragged ya sexy aft here, threw ya spread nice 'n wide over meh berth, 'n fragged ya processor out dat pretty lil' helm of yours." The bot gave a lecherous grin, so wide his face looked as though it would split in two, and Perceptor's vents burst to life as memories of just that happening surfaced.

"I-I remember n-now." He forced out weakly, turning his face away in shame as he caught sight of the large, blue stain smeared obscenely across the other's berth. "I g-guess I'll just be l-leaving then. I-I'm sure y-you'd l-like your privacy n-now. Good b-bye J-Jazz."

"Hey now, Percy." Jazz laughed lightly, good-naturedly, not in the least unkind, as he managed to grab hold of the scientist's waist before he could scramble rather awkwardly off the side of the berth. "No need ta feel uncomfortable 'round meh. Ya were great las' night and ah know you're a cuddler, so don't be feelin' ashamed 'bout ya'self." Jazz assured the nervous bot in his grasp as he positioned himself into a more comfortable position wrapped around the scientist. "'Sides, ah'd rather like ta hold ya for a bit as well. Dat is, if ya not oppose ta meh affections."

Perceptor still did not uncover his face, but he did relax as he murmured softly. "N-no. I would n-not be o-opposed to your affections."

"Good ta hear, 'cus ya weren't getting' away even if ya were."

"H-?" Percy was about to ask about the logic in such a statement, but wisely decided against it. This was Jazz after all, third in command of the Autobots and head of the Special Ops division; sometimes his logic just didn't make sense.

"Now, lets let some 'charge 'fore our afternoon shift." But just as those words left the other's lips, Perceptor's world suddenly hazed in a blur of movement and he found himself pinned snuggly under the saboteur's heated frame. "Unless, of course, you'd like the play by play of las' night." Jazz all but purred into the scientist's audio receptor, grinding himself enticingly down onto the other bot with clear intent.

Perceptor's processor began to race, his systems heating rapidly under the other's intense gaze. "I- would like that v-very much." And Perceptor turned his helm away in coyness, letting his hands fall slowly from his faceplates, unable to hide the little smile playing across his lips at the feeling of desirability washing over him.

Jazz smiled as he placed a gentle kiss on the scientist's lips. "Good, 'cus ah could get use ta waken up like dis."

Well, Percy may not know what force of nature drove him to drink last cycle, but all he can say now is thank Primus for high grade!

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>I know it's really short, but this is just something I whipped out at this inane hour of the night as I sit here cursing my insomnia. I hoped you enjoyed it, and if you are also still awake because of sleeping problems, please take comfort in the knowledge that you are not alone.

**Please review…**


	12. Promise

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbetaed. Some brief mentions of death.

**Pairing(s):** None

**Qwertzu**: You have poked at the almighty poker-backer-person and now the BooLoo pokes back with to poke you! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. I wasn't sure exactly what you wanted so I went with the cute and fluffy theme, since that is just my default when writing things for other people unless requested to do otherwise, though it also has some sadness mixed in due to the setting. Here's some fluffy Bluestreak for you, though it never directly says the name.

**AN:** Thank you **TsukiyomiNeko**, **Starfire201**, **Fianna9**, **TfJazz**, **renegadewriter8**, and **Qwertzu** for reviewing, and an extra thanks to those who've been reviewing regularly on my oneshots and therefore giving me your support for the story bits I write. Thank you all so much! Please enjoy!

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><p><strong>Prompt: Promise<strong>

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><p>The Autobot team searching the ruins of the once prosperous city of Praxus had finally called it quits after having been stationed amiss the rubble for over three cycles, having found naught a single survivor amongst the piles of dead and graying frames. It had been with heavy sparks and a few choice curses at the Decepticons that most of the soldiers had taken to their steel-mesh tents and fallen into fitful recharge. It had been Prowl who'd carried the heaviest spark of all.<p>

That night, as it would be rumored for many a vorn to come that the tactician's quiet keens could be heard haunting the camp as profoundly as the silence of the once great city.

And many grieved right alongside him.

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><p>Prowl was startled from recharge by the faint sound of scratching in the far corner of his temporarily accommodations, the muffled sounds of soft metal brushing quietly, but no less desperately, at what he could only assume was his steel-mesh pack. He had maintain enough control over his functions to keep his optics dimmed and frame still despite the sudden shock to his sensory net this late in the cycle, but now that he had assessed the situation he slowly shuttered his optic to a dull setting to get a look at what could be making such noises.<p>

The sight he received, nearly made him gasp in shock.

A pair of tiny, black hands were searching the edges of his pouch frantically for some sort of opening, those still too-clumsy fingers so characteristic to that of sparklings grasping and pulling at the bag futilely, managing only to roll it about the floor in small bouts of movements. The young one keened softly, coolant tears gathering at the corners of his optics as he struggled with the daunting obstacle, unable to move it due to its weight, and unable to open it from lack of experience. Those tiny praxian wings nubs flickered in distress, beams of light catching the surface of them a reflecting their gray coloring.

Prowl's own doorwings flicked gently behind him, his processor making quick work of the sight before him, running streams of calculations.

The little one was hungry, his color lacking all luster and his optics dimmed to below healthy levels for one so young. The side of his tent had been pushed aside at the seam; meaning the little one had managed to fit through the slight opening, also meaning that if he was startled he could escape the confines of the tent as well, and by the wide, feral gleam in the sparklings optics, it was safe to assume he would do just that if approached.

Prowl had to act quickly before the young one discovered he couldn't get the mesh bag open without a coded command and fled back into the ruins of his crumbling home. A sparkling that age and size would not survive more than a few cycles without adequate warmth and regular refueling. Prowl could not afford any mistakes in this.

Sending a silent command for the pack to open just enough for the sparkling to fit part of its body into the bag but not to pull the energon cube within out, he waited for the tiny thing to notice the soft whoosh of the protective seal cracking open just the smallest bit. Had the poor young one been just a bit older, it may have been suspicious of the unusual occurrence, but he was starving and so, so young. He did not hesitate in wiggling his tiny hands into the pouch, seeking out the energon he could smell within the folds of mesh covering, softly cooing in happiness when his fingers curled around the edges of the small ration.

He pulled, but the cube didn't budge.

The sparkling panicked again, yanking and tugging frantically at the glowing container, wing nubs fluttering wildly as he took to chewing uselessly at the bag opening, desperate to refuel and stop the sharp pain in his empty tanks. The sparkling had forgotten that there was another in the room, so intent on getting to the energon as he was. Soon he had flopped down on his little bottom and begun to use his peds as leverage to work the cube out, causing more auditable clanks to be heard throughout the tent. It failed, and the sparkling whimpered, tears flowing down his cheeks, dripping down his chassis and revealing the caked grime smeared over the tiny frame.

It broke Prowl's spark to watch such a sight, to see this level of determination for survival from such a young sparkling amounting to nothing, but he remained firm in his intentions. If he gave in and failed now, the young one could very well die, and he would live out the rest of his functioning knowing that it was he who'd left the sparkling to die a slow, lonely death under the remains of his felled home. He would not allow such a thing to pass. So he waited.

Finally, driven by desperation and base programming beyond his conscious control, the sparkling shoved his entire upper body into the pouch opening, seeking the object of his attentions, intending on drinking the contents of the cube from within the confines of the bag if he had to. He keened and chirped with the effort, his wing nubs scrapping the edges in, what Prowl could only guess, a painful display of his willpower to get the cube.

The moment all that could be seen of the little sparkling was his hips and legs poking out of the bag opening, Prowl made his move, slowly creeping off his low-set recharge pad and towards the sparklings still struggling form on all fours, careful not to make a sound, coming to a stop right behind the wiggling little thing. Gently, he nudged the tiny ped.

The reaction was immediate; the sparking lunged backwards to escape, but his wing nubs snatched on the edge of the mesh opening, halting his flight. Not that it mattered though, Prowl had already had his hands positioned to catch the sparkling around the waist the moment he moved back, and now those large, oh so tender hands were wrapped around the keening sparkling's middle, lifting the frightened young one from the confines of the bag and up to his optic level.

The little one's peds kicked and lashed out in freight, his tiny hands grabbing at the larger bot's fingers, tears shining steaks of silver own the soot covered face. He was so tiny Prowl's hands could fit around him with ease. The Sparkling cried out, wing nubs fluttering violently as he thrashed about, biting at the hands holding him high above the ground. It did not occurred to him the being dropped was not a favorable option at the moment, he was simply too sacred to make sense of it all.

"Hush little one." Prowl whispered softly, bringing the tiny, thrashing form to rest delicately, but firmly, against his spark chamber. "You are safe now. I will protect you. Shush, shush." Prowl fluttered his wings noisily as he spoke, intentionally drawing the sparkling's attention to them as he hoisted them high above his shoulders so that the sparkling could get a good view of them.

The moment the sparkling caught sight of those great expanses of metal fluttering above him, he keened loudly, instantly changing tactics from struggling away from the larger bot to forcing himself as close as physically possible to the warm frame, his tiny fingers searching urgently for grip upon the bot's chassis. He continued to wail, letting the pain and terror from his trauma spill out in a torrent of seemingly endless tears and static-laced chirps. He rubbed his stubby chevron against Prowl's warm metal to show his need for attention and comfort, hiding his face in the crook of the other's shoulder when he was shifted into a more comfortable position. His cried became silent after that, save for the hiccups that still raked his frame.

Prowl commed Ratchet, explaining his situation briefly, perhaps too briefly, because a moment later he was muting his receiver when the medic began bellowing about why the tactician didn't bring the little one to him immediately. Perhaps he should have given more details, but he was Prowl after all, and to the point was just his way of doing thing.

As he waited for the medic to arrive, Prowl managed to maneuver the sparkling into a snug position against the crook of his arm, beginning to gently wipe away some of the soot on the small frame with one of his softest polishing clothes, smiling tenderly as the little one grabbed hold of his finger and held it close, paying no mind to the cloth still soothing over whatever it could reach of the tiny frame with one of its holder's fingers otherwise preoccupied.

The young one cooed softly, before he suddenly went into a frenzy of clicking and keening, demanding to be fed, but not as panicked as he had once been, knowing instinctively that this mech would feed him the moment he was able if he just kept reminding him constantly, as sparklings tended to do. Besides, the warmth of the frame cradling him softly to the pulsing spark chamber made it more bearable to wait. He cooed his approval of the situation, hands curling for firmly around the finger in his hands.

Prowl leaned down, and rubbed his nose delicately against that of the little sparkling's, unable keep the smile on his face from growing to a noticeable curve when those tiny hands came up to pat his cheeks and mouth curiously, exploring their new caretaker with care. "Once Ratchet checks your tanks for any ruptures, I promise to feed you." He breathed lightly when the sparkling's optics began to dim when the warmth of the big bot's intakes lulled him into recharge. "I promise to take care of you."

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><p>The next cycle, Prowl left the ruins of the fallen city with a tiny, gray sparkling tucked within the warmth of his arms and his heavy spark just a little bit lighter.<p>

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> It is so adorable. I'd use the Japanese for adorable, but I don't now how to spell it and I don't speak Japanese. Oh well, hope you found this one at least a little heart warming. Baby Bluestreak has stolen my heart away.

**Please review…**


	13. Want

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbetaed. Implied non/dub-con, violence, and mech gore.

**Pairing:** Various SG pairings (Pairings and topics all chosen at random via dictionary, so there is MAJOR crack.)

**AN:** Thank you **TfJazz**, **Fianna9**, **Moonlight black rose**, **renegadewriter8**, **Qwertzu**, **Sideslip**, and **fanficenator** for reviewing, they are always loved and appreciated. I'm sorry it's taking me so long to update any stories, but real life has been knocking at my door nonstop for a while now. Anyway, please enjoy, these are just some idea joggers of the Shattered Glass variety. It's not much, but it's something to entertain the SG angst lovers.

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><p><strong>Prompt- Want<strong>

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><p><strong>JazzStarscream - Observation.**

Delicate, white wings flickered in interest as the gentle seeker knelt down to better inspect the organic life the alien planet seemed to be covered with, a soft smile curving a tender arch across his beautiful face when the strange batch of vegetation rippled at his touch. The light of the planet's sun shone off the brilliant curves of his frame, casting his supple form in a warm glow, making him shine forth brighter than any star.

From the veiled shadows of a stealth vessel not so far from the softly glowing seeker, a deadly predator waited, his crimson visor flushed dark with lust and a feral snarl across his lips, cursing the heat that scorched his interface panel, revving his systems to the point of madness.

Once more the concealed mech cursed when the Decepticon leader tenderly took the seeker's hand and lead the blushing vision of beauty and purity back to the safety of their transport, leaving Jazz with naught but the vision of that innocently swaying aft walking further and further away from his clenching claws.

And as the Decepticon ship took to the skies and skimmed over the clouds to places unknown, the overheated and lusting mech howled in frustration.

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><p><strong>CliffjumperSeaspray- Impact.**

Seaspray peeked out from under the turbulently thrashing waves of the ocean, watching the blue-plated minibot prowling the loading docks just out of claw's reach. He watched in the way a cornered animal watches a predator lounging patiently at their burrow's opening, just waiting for him to make a break for freedom, waiting for him to break under the pressure.

But Seaspray can wait. He is adapted to thrive in this environment of shifting tides and moist, salty winds, and the coming storm will force the minibot to retreat soon or risk being battered against the shore. However, he is also short on time, and the longer he is forced to wait out the blue bot the longer it will take him to deliver his findings to his master, and the longer his master is kept waiting the harsher his punishment for having been late to begin with.

The smaller bot at the dock's edge smiled that Primus damned innocent smile of his that'd made him one of the Prime's favorites- _sweet_ little Cliffjumper. "Come on Seaspray, play with me. If you try to get out and run I'll knock you back in again, but if you give me what I want I'll convince Optimus to be easy on you." He purred out to the still mostly submerged bot, wide, red optics shining expectantly.

Seaspray groaned silently under the spray of seawater, his clawed hand coming up to rub soothingly at the dent the little pit spawn had inflicted upon him just above his interface array when he'd first tried to skirt around the amorous minibot. Seaspray had known right then that he couldn't fend off the ground based bot while out of his element, and now he was essentially trapped in the water until the bot lost interest.

Unfortunately, Cliffjumper was persistent if nothing else, and had already been zipping eagerly about the docks for a good four hours after the first strike, waiting for him to give in. To him it was another game, just another way to entertain himself when he began to feel restless. But that was okay, because Seaspray could wait, and a storm was coming in, and he was comfortable in the water. He could wait.

However, his master was waiting so his time was limited for his master had a temper and did not like to be kept waiting. So, with great reluctance, Seaspray floated towards the dock's edge and allowed the minibot to paw playfully at his armor and pull him from the safety of his element. He allowed him to kiss at his plating and bite at his neck till it bled, spilling precious, life-giving energon upon the docks in a river that ran straight to the sea, where he belonged.

"You know what Seaspray-" Cliffjumper chimed sweetly as he bounced eagerly upon the other's chassis, hands soothing over the dent above the abdominal plating, his knuckles fitting suspiciously smug into the indenture. "You're fun to play with, just be careful with your claws or else Optimus won't be happy with you, okay."

And those claws tightened just a little more, sending a ripple through the river of eerie pink running silently to the ocean where he belonged.

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><p><strong>MirageVortex- Loss.**

Vortex gasped hard into the cool night air, a cloud of warm vapor peering out into the blackness, his systems running too hot, his spark pulsing too hard, and a feeling of dread settling deep within him, deeper than any alarm before, like the hand of death had settled delicately over his spark casing, waiting to reach in and pull him to his deactivation. He shook with the fear.

The ache in his spark was great, the loss, unbearable.

"Now, now dear Vortex, do try to relax." The sensation of an icy, sharpened claw tracing a deadly trail of intimacy down his spark seals caused the white bot to flinch and his venting to hitch. His rotary blades trembled at the feeling of violation as they dipped, dare he say, _lovingly_, between the protective seams keeping his spark hidden from the outside world. "After this we'll be one and never be forgotten again- because we'll have each other and that's all we'll need."

Vortex cried out as his spark lurched over in agony, pulsing like a wild thing in his chassis, his hands clenching in defiance even as cooling energon from above steamed down his plating like veins of death raining from the heavens. His scream pierced through the dark abyss, a sound just as deafeningly in his spark as it was into the void.

A gentle claw lifted his chin slowly, forcing his gaze skyward till he saw them, his brothers, his family strung up with great spears of silver protruding from their spark chambers, their frames long since grayed and near bled out upon his helm. His spark pulsed harder, echoing into the nothingness their deactivations left behind, a painful reminder of all that was taken away from him.

A voice, gentle, but sickly sweet, whispered into his audio receptor. "It's just us now- just us." A tender kiss, lingering over his spark chamber: a claw, beginning to pry. "You'll never ignore me again. You're mine now."

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><p><strong>CosmosIronhide- Carry.**

Ironhide smirked darkly, his rough, battle-scarred hand being sure to stroke just so along the back of struggling minibot's thigh, digging into sensitive wires and denting the framework there with an uncanny precision that vorns of experience had taught him, leaving shallow dents along the silver plating. His smirk only widened when the hissing, snarling little thing fresh from deep space and feral as all pit began ramming himself viciously against his shoulder, trying to escape the constricting grip the larger bot had on him with all the strength he could muster.

A small ped lashed out in furry, leaving a jagged streak of stripped silver along the black plating. The small, round bot received a hard swat across his aft for the effort, and an equally hard nip in the side. He hissed once more, small hands clawing at the larger bot's back plating.

"Feisty aren't ya." Ironhide growled huskily, optics flickering to dark crimson, his frame vibrating from tension and the heat rolling in his lower tanks, causing his interface equipment to pressurize with raw, unprecedented need. "Don't worry though, Cosmos, ah love tha enthusiasm. Wish ya had a mouth though. Always did love tha biters."

Cosmos howled in outrage, vocalizer raw from vorns of disuse and his processor crazed from the endless isolation floating weightlessly in the void of the galaxy had brought, where even the humming of his internal systems were silent and the frigid cold of space had numbed to nothingness. He had gone mad, and even now, he still was.

Ironhide crackled in delight as he threw the small bot carelessly into his quarters, stepping in after with a leer on his face and static lacing his voice when the first of many deadly weapons was hurled at him, landing in the hall passed his peds. A door silently slid close behind him and locked into place, trapping the snarling, crazed minibot inside.

At the end of the hall, Goldbug's lips pulled into a frown, disappointed that Ironhide had managed to snatch the space-going mech before he could, knowing from past encounters that Cosmos was always as tight as any untouched mech when he finally did came down from orbit, his interface array having been untouched for deca-cycles at a time. He would just have to try his luck next time it would seem.

But still-

The first howling scream echoed through the halls.

Now he'd have to wait another three vorns to get his hands on Cosmos.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> It's all rapey and slashy and stuff. Poor Vortex, I'm sorry that Mirage is being such an aft, but he only does it because he's an attention-obsessed-psychopath who wants your love and refuses to share your affections with anyone else (Even though you didn't even know he was stalking you about in the first place.).

**Please review...**


	14. Acceptance

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbetaed. (Mistakes will be corrected later…)

**Pairing:** None

**AN:** Thank you **Fianna9**, **TfJazz**, **TransFanFreak101**, and **Qwertzu** for reviewing and I would like to express my sincerest apologies for the absence (**For details of absence see profile.**). Anyway, at the moment I am still dipping my toes back into the Transformers fandom and ask patience for those of you who maybe reading one of my longer stories. I am still not up to speed on the details of the fandom at the moment and am still reacquainting myself with it, but for now here is a small continuation of the '_Promise_' oneshot with Bluestreak and Prowl. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Prompt- Acceptance<strong>

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><p>Prowl cooed softly, rubbing the young one's back as he paced his office in brisk, precise strides, door wings held painfully rigid and blue optics flickering in systematic patterns of brightness to dim somber. His neck cables were straining with the effort to regain control of the racing emotions that were flooding his processor, his systems blaring warnings as he tried to calm his swelling rage.<p>

A sneer almost slipped across his lips.

The young one clicked softly, tiny hands latching on to the edge of Prowl's chassis as best as his stubby fingers would allow, soft flutters of his tiny wing nubs brushing against Prowl's tense hand as it rubbed along his back. He hid his tiny face into the warm metal just above his caretaker's spark, letting his supple cheek plates press firmly to the vibrating surface, knowing his Prowl was hurt and angry but unable to do anything save press close and click soothingly at him.

His own frustration at his inability to comfort his Prowl brought him close to tears, a sheen of liquid blue shining at the corners of his optics, his young processor unsure of how to cope with the new frustrations, but the pulsing of the spark under the metal pressed warmly to his own tiny chassis comforted him. He cooed back when he heard his Prowl do so for him, taking reassurance in the soothing sounds, his hold on the chassis in his grasp tightening.

"I'm sorry, Bluestreak." Prowl whispered gently into the young one's audio receptors, pressing a light, tender kiss to the stubby, red chevron before nuzzling his face into the warmth of the sparklings small helm. The little one immediately latched his fingers to Prowl's lips, holding him close. "You don't deserve this. You should be tucked away in a warm room with toys and sweet energon, where it's safe and you won't have to worry about war or- your caretaker's glitch. You deserve better." A distant, haunted look reflected in the light of Prowl's optics as he spoke, though his voice was still so soft and tender. "But you are the only one I can trust. I am sorry."

Bluestreak did not understand the words, such things were still beyond his ability to understand, but he understood that he was wanted and loved and that his Prowl would keep him safe and fed, and that was all he needed. He chirped softly, pushing his tiny helm under the older praxian's chin where he could smell the familiar scent of his caretaker the easiest, snuggling himself closer as he cooed his contentment.

The little red chevron poked irritably at Prowl's throat cables, but he paid it no mind, instead opting to hold the sparkling closer and bask in the acceptance this small being gave him. It was simply perfect. So small, so soft, so warm, with tiny grasping fingers and wide, innocent optics that peered up at him with such wonder even as the world seemed to sneer down at him with distain. Prowl had never felt the need to protect and cherish any being so strongly before, and for the first time the need to have another close did not scare him.

It felt so natural to hold the little one over his spark, his very life force, and to allow those small hands access to his most vulnerable areas, the soft, pliable metals of his throat and face, and of course his sensitive door wings. There was no threat in the young one's optics, no judgment to be passed, only a finely acute curiosity and untainted innocence.

Yes, this is what Prowl was fighting for. This little being wrapped so protectively in his arms was the definition of all that he had sought to defend for so long, had bled precious energon to preserve.

A small smile slipped across the tactician's lips, a true, genuine smile.

"Let's clean you up before recharge. I think your enthusiasm is matched only by Jazz's." The larger praxian hummed quietly, rubbing his thumb tenderly against the sparkling's tiny helm as the little one clicked up at him and vibrated lightly in form of a purr.

And for all purposes, it was true. Tiny spots of mild pink littered the sparklings chassis where his evening meal had managed to spill in Bluestreak's rush to suckle as much of the medi-grade as possible into his rumbling tanks as quick as his small size allowed. It had been very endearing to watch, and the astonished puzzlement that followed when hiccups began to escape the small praxian was even more so. Prowl had felt a small part of himself warm and melt at the sight.

Tucking the sparkling protectively into the crook of his arm, the tactician raised his optic ridge in fond amusement when tiny feet began to kick playfully against his hand, little wing nubs flickering about in delight. The sparkling cooed and chirped excitedly, reaching back up to his Prowl with small, soft hands that grabbed at the air as his tiny belly lifted in an attempt at rising higher. But Bluestreak immediately switched his tactics to grabbing hold of and suckling on Prowl's fingers when the black hand strayed to close to the sparkling's grasp, using his peds to pull the warm appendage closer to himself.

The sparkling paid little mind to the gentle swish of a door sliding open, instead opting to yawn tiredly up a the older praxian and just hold the hand to his tiny chassis, relaxing under the gentle caress of a thumb over his arm. He cooed softly. He did, however, take notice when the sound of running coolant started to drum right next to his audio receptor, and it was like a switch had gone off in his processor.

He squealed in delight, fluttering his wing nubs and flipping over as fast as he could with his tiny fingers still wrapped tightly around Prowl's arm. The little one reached for the softly glowing coolant beginning to fill the tub, mesmerized by the faint blue hue that pooled so beautifully before him, clicking and chirping enthusiastically at the sight. Guiltless wonder.

A small curve graced the older praxian's lips at the endearing sight, optics dimming to a supple hue.

In a world where enemy units waited at every turn and in every shadow to eliminate him, and even his own comrades had grown to despise him for the burdens he must carry as second-in-command and the strictness in which he completes those duties, it would seem he had found one being who could look upon him without judgment, one who could see the side of him that cared for others so deeply, and, even if only a little, wished to be cared for as well.

He'd finally found someone who he can always turn to for acceptance, unconditional acceptance, and he would hold him for as long as those tiny hands reached for his and those wide, innocent optics never swayed in their affections.

His light in the dark, his warmth in a world so cold, his sparkling- his innocent little Bluestreak.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> So cute! I am melting inside, and admittedly, I almost wanted to cry while reading this over remembering when my brothers were that small. I'm having mommy feels all over again!

**Please review…**


	15. Armor

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbated. Also, this is the TFA verse with IDW verse characters thrown in.

**Pairing:** Pre-Drift/Perceptor

**Rating:** T

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much **LeaderPinhead**, **Guest**, **Qwertzu**, and **Fianna9** for your reviews, they made me feel so happy knowing that even after my extended absence there were still people who wanted to read my stories. Sorry about how short this one is as well, but I think it's pretty good anyway. Anyhow, this one is suppose to be mostly funny, so the parts that seem crackish probably are and are not to be taken seriously. Please enjoy!

**(Edited...)**

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><p><strong>Prompt: Armor<strong>

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><p>Perceptor was not a mech prone to irrational delusions. He was a mech of science, a being that had dedicated himself to reason and logic, but for reasons unknown he could not shake the unsettling sense of foreboding that had taken hold of him these passed few cycles. It was not so overbearing that he could not function, but it made his recharge cycles a little less restful and his shifts a lot more draining. He had taken to using energon as a substitute for actual recharge, lacking as it was, at least it kept him going.<p>

He had questioned several medics about his restlessness, but after unpromising scans, confused grumbles, and mumbled apologies, he had decided this was just a phase he would have to wait out: he was a scientist after all, and he was good at waiting for results.

It wasn't until cycles later, after Iacon Headquarters received notice of an unknown neutral ship asking permission to dock at their facility for repairs, that he'd learn that sometimes that nagging feeling in the back of one's processor wasn't always misinformed.

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><p>Sentinel was barking orders again, as was the usual way of his function, his big chin jutting distractedly from below his ceaseless mouth, causing some of the newer recruits to cringe away or stare on with wonder as the imposing piece of metal swayed to and fro from their commander's face. Some of the young recruits admired the strength of his neck for accomplishing such a feat as the one such a massive chin presented, whispering among themselves the possible acquiring of such a chin through rank and the potential to achieve such a neck with training. The smarter one's merely gave their commander unimpressed looks, wondering how such a huge, loud target such as that of their commander and his chin could not have been shot yet.<p>

Perceptor ignored the small talk of chins and rank among the troops in favor of watching the faint outline of a gleaming ship descended upon the roof of their facility, taking note of the unique design of the white plating spread upon the vessel in layers of imposing armor. If Perceptor had to classify the crew of this ship purely on the intricate designs of their vessel, he'd have to wager they were of the New Crystal City stock. Such a lovely place really, if they were more open to the idea of outsiders visiting for a while, Perceptor would have invested in studying the particular fusing method of their armor.

"Alright, listen up cogs! Let me say this nice and clear so your malfunctioning processors get it. If those neutrals so much as look suspicious, I want them taken down ASPA! Got it?" His mighty chin heaved with each word, and Perceptor's blank, steady optic twitched ever so slightly as he watched its bulk jiggle ominously. Three jiggles. Something life altering was on the horizon.

"Yes, sir!" The young cadets saluted, their optics also fixated upon the chin. Some murmured in awe at its immensity, while others shied away.

After the chin had ceased its movements, Perceptor brought his gaze back to the unknown aircraft, raising his hand to block his sensitive vents as air was whipped about his frame from the force of the vessel landing so close to them. Of Course, there was little to be done for the condition of his optics with his hands otherwise preoccupied, but they were an easy fix, a dimmer there and a re-router here and all was well.

With a mighty plop that rattled the young soldier's plating and a rather undignified poof of misplaced air, the ship managed to hit ground with only minimal effort, though the source of the ship's ailment was easily discernable at first glance; a gaping hold near the back of the thruster stabilizers where something had impacted it.

Sentinel hissed in distaste at the sight of the damage. "Neutrals. Can't even fly a ship right." He snorted, and once more his chin swayed to attention beneath his widely set mouth. The young cadets were once more drawn to its movement.

However, Perceptor's attention was taken elsewhere as he tilted his helm just slightly, noticing a strange symbol scrawled across the gleaming white vessel. He recognized it immediately, and felt his spark lurch at the indications, all fascination of the ship's unique design gone.

Wreckers. _Neutral_ wreckers.

Something glinted in the scientist's optics before he spoke. "Keep those hooligans out of my labs and away from the science department. That is an order." And with that Perceptor was off, already calculating the inevitable damage that would occur over the next few cycles with the arrival of their _guests_.

How troublesome.

Sentinel shuttered his optics in confusion, taken aback by the scientist's sudden change in attitude. "What's with him?" His cadets just shrug.

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><p>From within the confines of the ship, a pair of piercing blue optics peered out from the finely hidden observation deck, watching with rap fascination as the petite, scoped bot turned away from the others lined across the landing deck, heading off to places unknown. He found his optics unconsciously tracking the red bot's movements, lingering longer than appropriate on the door he'd disappeared behind.<p>

"What you staring at, kid?" Came the gruff voice from behind him, causing the white plated bot to tear his optics from the door and turn to his mentor.

Those piercing blue optics darkened in intensity, his face pulled into an unyielding expression of seriousness. "Kup, would you consider an additional crewmember?"

There was silence- a very heavy silence.

Kup gave his younger crewmember a disapproving glare, chewing irritably on his cigar. "It's not the blue one is it?" The white plated bot gave Kup an unamused stare, and between them, that was answer enough. His glower softened into a rather amused smirk. "Then we have no problems."

The white bot nodded understandingly, turning to leave.

"Drift, one more thing." Drift turned back to the older bot.

A knowing grin slid around the cigar between his lips. "When you see him, flare out your armor a bit." Drift gave him a questioning stare. Kup laughed. "Just trust me on this one, kid."

Confused, but not willing to argue with the older bot, Drift merely nodded his understanding once more and exited the hanger, stepping out to the chaos that was the blue bot barking orders to his unfortunate troops.

As the younger disappeared from sight, Kup put his hand to his helm, chewing the end of his cigar as he did.

: _**Wheeljack. Yeah, long time no see. I have a job for you. Do you know the science bot with the scope?**_ :

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Gasp! This is my first fic with Drift as a character so please do not feel offended if I got his characterization wrong. My strength in characterization lies with Dark!fic and deep psychoanalyzing!fic, so creating Drift without making him angsty and such was a bit strange to me especially since this was my first time writing him. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it anyway!

**Please review…**


	16. Family Matters

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** This is a very long fragment of an OC story that I had made a VERY LONG TIME AGO! It is not very good and has many, many errors in it. This was written back when I was still getting the hang of writing fics that were worth a second glance. (As I'm sure many of you can remember from your own fledgling experiences.) I just wanted to get this out of my incomplete folder, but was reluctant to trash it because it took a lot of effort and time to make and it was one of my firsts. Please feel free to ignore this oneshot bit if you'd like to.

**Pairing:** none (Sadly, no mentioned slash, but it is very briefly implied.)

**Rating:** T

**Author's Note:** You may have already read the Warning notes, so I'll just get into the description of what this is. I made this in my free time when I was still learning to write Transformers, so it is mostly an OC POV fic where I was learning/experimenting with terms and details unique to the fandom. For those who read, hopefully you get some enjoyment out of it. Also, beware the _friend_ trolling at the end.

**Communication methods:**

_**:: Family Bond Comm.**_::

(The family bond can only be heard or used by members directly related to the family.)

:_ Private comm._:

(Private comm. can only be heard and used by the two bots using it.)

-_Transmission_-

(Transmissions are private comm.s that are being "ease-dropped" on by the main character.)

-_Open comm. transmission_-

(Open comm. transmissions are comm. links that can be accessed by anyone within a certain communication network.)

"Talking."

(Talking is pretty self-explanatory.)

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><p><strong>Prompt: Family Matters<strong>

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><p>This new planet we've landed on is strange to me, but it still possesses charmingly similar qualities to that of Cybertron's with its- though somewhat primitive- technology and cities. Sometimes I find myself just staring mindlessly across the vast sea of human dwellings and work-towers, pondering on the potential fate of these fleshy creatures.<p>

Sometimes I fear they are too much like us.

I see so much of my own family in them every time I watch a human _mother_ clutch her creation or two brothers arguing over energy rations. Sometimes, watching the humans cause me anxiety, not so much because they are a probable danger, but because they are so small and vulnerable and I know were I to hold them, to touch them just a little too roughly, they would offline- _die_. Still, in a way I am glad for this opportunity to watch these flesh creatures first hand, because it reminds me that there's a reason we did not join Decepticon ranks at the beginning of the war, why we remained neutral.

Some life is worth preserving, I believe, even if we have to give a bit of ourselves to preserve it. Sometimes the sacrifice is worth it.

Empty, dimly lit streets laid out ahead fills me with some concern, but for the most part the openness of the night helps me to unwind. To be truthful, I am not particularly fond of dark alleys and flickering lights on such narrow streets at this time of the solar-cycle, but I am well aware that there's very little for me to fear at this time, and with my creator's shield around me at all times, even less so. Besides, I find that I greatly value these drives around the city when traffic is near nonexistent on the side streets and the city noise is distant. They give me time to think.

At the light tugging at me spark,I know immediately whom it is coming up beside me, even if he is still so far off. The connection is warm and playful, but not without some hidden layers of worry. A flash of luminescent colors flicker in and out of traffic on the highway to my far right and I feel a small part of me swell with pride at the sight.

The smaller, two-wheeled vehicle- I believed he called it a _street bike_- manages to pull out of traffic at the last minute and slide gracefully onto a side street heading towards me. His paint shines vibrantly in the streetlights overhead as he pulls up beside me and I feel more than see his holoform-rider flicker faintly.

We're still new at this disguising business and he has been having the most trouble maintaining his holoform thus far.

"Yo." The new human language we've been adopting is still odd to me, but I find I enjoy using some of the words and this form of greeting has become pleasing to me over the last few deca-cycles: quick, to the point, but still friendly despite its promptness.

My youngest brother, Sunblazer, is taking to his surroundings quite well and I'm pleased that he's found it easy to adapt to the ways of this planet's inhabitants. His endless love for earthian rock and rap musicintrigues me- though I honestly have no such interests in his _Lil' Wayne_ or _Snoopdog_. His love of earthian _slang_ and _bling_ are also a curiosity, but so long as he is comfortable I am willing to learn this new language, though I am still hazy on exactly what this _fuck_ word he seems so enthralled with is about. I am sure that accidentally scratching paint off one's side has nothing to do with human interfacing.

"What's happenin' sis-stray? Ya pissed or somethin'? It's kinda late to be goin' for a ride ain't it?" I contemplate the words a bit, but because of my alt-mode cannot turn my head to assess the two-wheeled vehicle accurately. His drastic change of speaking habit since arriving on this planet, as I explained, is still new to me.

After consulting the _web_ and coming to a rough translation as to what he means, I rev my engines and swerve affectionately towards him, causing him to have to slow down to avoid my rims. He pushes back a moment later, with an equally loud rev and begins to circle me playfully.

Did I mention he's like a seeker on wheels, fast and agile little thing that he is?

"No, I'm fine. Just thinking about how different this planet is from Cybertron. Just thought I'd do some night cruising." If I could smile, I would have, but the best I can manage is a small rev.

He instantaneously flips himself into a backwards position, so that we are front to front, and somehow manages to keep up the 60 mph speed we've been cruising at with ease while going in reverse. I have always been impressed by his ability in such athletics, but have never found it in me to feel jealous. If anything, this knowledge makes me happy because I know he'll be able to fend for himself should a problem arise, and in our current predicament, we need all the reassurance we can get.

"If any Decepti-slangs are givin' ya shit, jus' tell me an' I'll rip their sparks out!"

I don't doubt that, but as comforting as the thought of my brother protecting me is- even if I am the older one- it still makes me worry for his safely. He is a strong little warrior, but he is still so young and reckless- having just been changed from a youngling frame to a mech frame recently- and does not fully understand what such violent acts truly entails. He may be overly protective, but he is certainly no killer.

"Don't worry. Besides, no one would mess with me. To their knowledge none of us would be important enough to send someone to retrieve on a whim. Anyway, I'm sure neither side even knows we exist." That was true enough, between my transmission receiving abilities and our creator's signal blocking abilities we've managed to remain undetected for so many vons that I've lost count over the stellar-cycles.

My brother it seemed, remained unconvinced. "I still don't like it. You and mom- you're both carriers." That said it all, his fears, his worries, all in those few words.

Sunblazer is not the most observant of mechs when it comes to the matter of what is hazardous to one's safely, but he knows how to get information when it counts. Most likely he'd been talking to Warpspeed and managed to get him to tell him why our _mother_ always goes into near hysterics every time an unbonded bot looks at either of us, my creator or I, strangely. Mostly me though because as a creator she's protective and because though she knows that I'm responsible enough to not do anything unless the time is proper, many bots- sadly but very much true- are desperate enough for a sparkling to overlook such minor details as unwillingness to get one.

Thank Primus my brothers were not created as carriers.

It's probably true that allowing myself to be separated from the family is dangerous, especially since I am still young and admittedly not as strong as one would hope, but I do not like the idea of being seen as so utterly helpless that I need to be watch constantly. "No one knows that but us. Besides, I'm not exactly what one would call a _looker_; I believe your terms would be. Unless they knew I was a carrier, they'd probably just ignore me." Sad, but truer still, pale black just wasn't in style these days.

A rush of ill-restraint panic and fear flooded over both our bonds as the private family comm. opened abruptly. :: _**-**_**Lightwave to Sunblazer, Warpspeed, Freefall**_**- **__Get to a safe area now! A battle's broken out on the outskirts of the city and I don't want any of you seen! I'm already at the eastern hideout. ::_

:: **-Freefall to Lightwave- **_Yes Creator. Sunblazer is with me and we are close to your position. We'll meet you there. _:: I comm. back as calm as I can, sending love and reassurance over the bond to ensure her that we're okay and still with her. Beside me, I feel Sunblazer sending the same supportive feelings over the bond too, and not surprisingly, it is laced with that protective warmth he has always harbored.

Quite suddenly, almost all over emotions are drowned out as an overwhelming protective surge slams into the family bond head on as Warpspeed- I'm sure given the intensity of the protectiveness- opens up his end of the bond to us. I can feel the underline rage from his end and send as much love and calm as I can over the bond to cool his temper.

With a controlled measure of concern I comm. my younger brother. :: **-Freefall to Warpspeed- **_Sunblazer and I are alright. Where are you? _::

It does not take long for him to answer. :: **-Warpspeed to Freefall- **_North end of the city, just two miles away from the battle. They're really tearing it up and it looks like the Decepticon's are winning. Damn glitches are heading east. Open transmissions feed on them and keep them open over the bond, if they come anywhere close to the hideout I want to know immediately. ::_

It doesn't take much prompting for me to do so.

Reaching attentively though the deepest circuits of my processor, I manage to locate the transmission interceptor integrated within my comm. setting and switch its energy current on. It's startup tings echo throughout my sensitive antenna before it establishes connection. The sudden wall of sound I'm suddenly forced to take in momentarily stuns me, but I manage to quickly start blocking out the more trivial incomes and focus more intently upon the battle taking place not five miles away.

- Prowl to Optimus- _The Constructicons are mobilizing to create Devastator_. -

- _…wish you were slim!? _-

- _I love you…_ -

- _Alabama!_ -

- Sideswipe to Sunstreaker- _Watch your back! _-

- _We interrupt for this important…_ -

- _Blue's Clues!_ –

- _Once in a life time deal here at…_ -

- Starscream to Thundercracker, Skywarp- _I'm going after the red one, cover me._ -

- _Left, to your left…_ -

- Optimus to Dinobots- _Mobilize and keep Devastator away from the city. We don't want any human casualties. _-

- …_for one am not buying… _-

- _…he say wh… _-

- Ironhide to Sunstreaker- _Get the black one, got ya brother covered_. -

- _…conspiracy man! _-

- Blaster- _Soundwave spotted!_-

- _Ya, momma!_ –

- _…latest scandal… _-

- Grimlock- _Me, Grimlock, destroy them, Devastator! Me, Grimlock, and my brothers are strong!_ –

- _I'm not okaaaaaay!_ -

- Skywarp to Trine- _Get him off. Can't shake him!_ -

- _…pocket sevens… _-

- Prowl- _Megatron at the north ridge. Optimus?_ –

- _Touchdooooooooown for the Giants!_ -

- Soundwave to Megatron- _Energon cubes under threat. Assistance required._ -

- …_9-1-1 emergency, what is the nature… _-

- …_he's going all the way!_ -

- Swoop to Dinobots- _Help me, Swoop, them, Devastator has Swoop's wing._ -

- Thundercracker to Skywarp- _Hold still!_ -

- _…Smooth Criminal! _-

- Inferno to Red Alert- _Down!_ -

- Jazz to Prowl- _Where's Ratchet? I can't comm. him!_ -

- …_She's the Devil in disguise! Oh…_ -

- Sunstreaker- _Sides!_ -

- Red Alert to Iornhide- _Behind you!_ -

- Rumble to Soundwave- _Hold on big boss, we've almost got it._ -

- _Blast off in 3, 2…_ -

- _…Ultra-Charmin! The… _-

- Sludge to Swoop- _I, Sludge, will save, you, Swoop! _-

- Soundwave to Ravage- _Go, Ravage! _-

- _…and you will be saved by the Lord Jesus Christ! Halleluiah! _-

- Optimus- _Leave Megatron to me._ –

- _…tonight on the late night show… _-

- …_chase in progress_… -

- _In other news…_-

- Megatron to Soundwave- _Comm. Vortex and the rest of those…_ -

- _…Naruto has been switched from 6: 30 to… _-

- Blaster to Steeljaw- _Stop Ravage before he gets to Red!_ -

- _Extenze! You to can get those extra inches you've always…_ -

- _…yessssssssssss! _-

- Soundwave to Megatron- _Megatron! _-

- _Head on, apply directly to the forehead._ –

- _…Yeeeeeeeeeeee-Haaaaaaaaa! Now that's… _-

I can feel the beginnings of a processorache beginning to form as I continue to try to filter out all unwanted connections rushing into my memory circuits, allowing only those relating to the battle to filter into the family comm. I can only imagine the irate reactions I'd get from Warpspeed if I simply dump this pile of comm. signals straight into his processor without proper filtering.

I'd done it once before as a joke, when I was younger, and since then have had no intention of being reintroduced to the open end of his weaponry.

"Damn! They're really goin' at it this time." Sunblazer gave a faint rev of frustration; obviously beginning to feel his impatience getting the better of him as he listens to the battle raging on. "I could take'm easy if mom 'd jus' let me fight!"

I'd shake my head at his ignorance if I weren't in alt-mode. "This is not something we want to get involved with Blazer. There's more to this war then a few guns and hotheaded bots looking for a fight. This is hatred that has grown out of control over the stellar-cycles, not a game." I try to stress this as often as possible to my youngest brother, but as usual he brushes it off with a scoff and gives me a cocky flash of his headlights.

"I know that. I'm jus' sayin' I could kick their afts any day!" My engine hums lowly in irritation at hearing this. Knowing that I'm not pleased Sunblazer tries to make amends with his classic sparkling-faced line. "I love you." He revs cheekily, trying to give off the impression of being cutesy.

"Really now." I drawl sarcastically, though not too obviously. "Are you sure about that?"

That sparkling-face doesn't work on me, hasn't in a long, long time. Maybe one day he'll figure this out.

It crosses my mind how it is unusual for the Autobots and the Decepticons to be battling at this time of night and so close to a densely populated city. Sure, I know from previous drop-ins on their private comm.s that the Decepticons are always after a fresh source of Energon, but even the power plant here probably doesn't have enough to be targeted directly. If they had really wanted a target, they should have gone for the hydroelectric plant just thirty miles away where most of the city's power comes from.

On a whim I re-filter through the comm. links I'd previously discarded and look for anything I could have missed. It's a slow and tenuous job, even for my high-functioning processor, but I know I will not be able to recharge at all tonight if I don't do it. I would not be able to live with the guilt if something bad happened to my family when it could have been avoided by a few minutes of comm. searching. Fortunately, I find nothing out of the ordinary and am soon free to concentrate my full energy on passing battle comm.s over the family bond.

Multi-tasking: if there's one thing I have become good at over the vons it's that.

Honestly, I don't think I'll be getting much recharge even with my suspicions settled anyway, not while the battle is going on. I can only hope it ends soon, and we can get back to our simple lives about the city.

* * *

><p>The warehouse our family's claimed as the eastern hideout is not top of the line accommodations, but with a personal few touches here and there- and decent lighting- it makes for a homey atmosphere despite being in a rather rundown part of the city. It also happens to be one of our most protected hideaways.<p>

Pulling through the classic chain link gates that blocks off the small alley- even I must admit its kind of _tacky_ at times- I'm quick to send a surge of relief over the family bond. Within seconds, a minivan is there to greet us and I can feel her relief the moment we make optic contact.

The van of shining black and deep purple rushed up to us and I could feel the pull of her high-performance scanners inspecting us for any damage that may lie beneath the surface.

Our creator has always been protective, even before the war, but since the fractions split and started attacking neutrals her protectiveness had become a near obsession. It is actually rather sad, but understandable given our history.

"Get in, get in." She commands us with that ever-strained calm lacing every word, swerving around to our rears to nudge us encouragingly towards the warehouse. "The battle is getting closer and I don't want to risk them seeing you."

I already know all this, since I am the one whose been filtering it into their processors, but I do not remind her of this. She is already so stressed; she doesn't need me adding on to it by being a smartaft when she's merely trying to keep us safe.

I send love and trust over the bond to her, but still hesitate before I drive into the warehouse. However, it is not long before I am basking in the sudden rush of warmth within and the sweet, metallic smell of Energon freshly opened.

To the far corner I see Warpspeed in his root-mode, gulping down some high-grade, and from the way his mouth drawn into a thin line, obviously still listening to the battle transmissions I'd temporarily integrated into his comm. link.

Now, high-grade is the equivalent of what the human's call _alcohol_, but his build demands such high-energy consumption to remain functioning correctly. Meaning, and believe me when I say she's protested relentlessly, creator just has to live with her creation's choice of drink. Sometimes being a racecar has its perks, that is, if you like the sweeter stuff that is.

The moment the minivan makes her way through the warehouse opening, the door immediately begins to seal shut and distinctive barriers are set in place. The moment I hear the last of the barriers set I change into my root-mode and stretch my taut joints.

A slightly smaller brother pushes past me playfully. "Gah! It's so fuckin' borin' in here!" Sunblazer whines to our creator, and though it's highly annoying, I find it endearing nonetheless when in proportion. Unfortunately, it is an everyday constant and that just makes it irritating.

I let a knowing look slide over my face as Warpspeed turns an aggravated optic on our younger brother, his fingers giving the faintest squeeze on his Energon cube.

He doesn't seem so fond of Sunblazer's whining either.

* * *

><p>The battle is still active and I'm still unable to recharge due to my brother's insistent demands that I keep the lines open for him to monitor, he even offered me some of his high-grade- without mom's knowledge of course- to help me stay online. I could not deny him his <em>request<em> anymore than I could deny him my love, but I did not take the high-grade, instead settled for some medium-grade.

It'd occurred to me that the battle was taking far longer than usual some time ago, and that there was something of greater value to the Decepticons in the area than a few cubes of Energon if they were still fighting against the Autobots for control of the area. It had worried me.

The thought that they'd actually learned of our existence, our abilities, and carrier capabilities had filled me with such dread that I'd nearly cut the comm. links in freight. Luckily, I'd learned later that it was over a new weapon and not any particular bots taking cover in the city.

I glance over to spot Sunblazer curled up against mom's side, kicking about every once in a while and mumbling quietly in his recharge, while mom's half-lit optic glows a hazy purple in the dimmed light. I know that she is recharging, but sometimes I wonder how it is she manages to keep her optics online even when she is offline.

Years of constant threat and vigilance must have installed her with an array of automatic defense programs, ones that are still activated even before her onlining joors.

When I turn to look back at my brother, I find he is watching me with a thoughtful expression, as though he could see into the very depth of my spark with those intense, blue optics. Even as I lock gazes with him his stare never wavers, and I can tell he has something important to tell me. Gradually, I relax into the seat, which is actually a pile of steel crates welded together, and turn myself to face him fully, a silent go-ahead to start the discussion.

He taps his helm with his index, and I know then that this exchange will be secret, relayed on a private comm. between the two of us, and that I should turn off the incoming comm. links for this conversation. What he is about to tell me is important- no, vital to our futures- and he knows I'm the only one in our family rational enough to hear him out through to the end and not make hasty judgments or decisions until all the pros and cons are weighed out. He trusts me, but more importantly, he trusts my opinion.

: -**Warpspeed to Freefall**- _I'm going to join the Autobots. Tonight._ :

At first I am too stunned to speak, but it is short-lived. In truth, I'd always known, even if I didn't want to acknowledge it, that Warpspeed, and soon to follow in his ped-steps, Sunblazer, would eventually leave us to join the Autobot ranks to fight against the Decepticons.

Gathering my thoughts and calming my racing processor, I manage to reply evenly. : -**Freefall to Warpspeed**- _I am…unsure if letting you go is a choice I should make as your older sister, but I know it is the right one. You- we cannot continue to live as we have. I just… _: I am unable to continue, feeling lubricant begin to gather behind my optics.

I stare down at my dark-colored servos numbly, knowing what must be done but dreading having to help initiate the change. I am not a strong-willed bot when it comes to deciding other's futures, and I know that I've always been one to follow the right path rather than carve it out for others, but I also know that I'm perhaps the only one Warpspeed can trust to ensure he- and later Sunblazer- get safely into the Autobot ranks.

It will break creator's spark to have to finally acknowledge that her precious creations are no longer sparklings. I do not think she is ready to let go, but hopefully, I am wrong.

I glance up. My brother: so full of suppressed anger and pain, unable to share that hurt even through the bond we share, as though by exposing that pain he is corrupting the very bond he has always fought to maintain. He is my brother, my family, my protector, but he is also a warrior who has been denied his blade, and no matter how far we try to distance him from the battles, he will always be drawn to them.

He rarely mentions it, has never even hinted it to creator or Sunblazer, but his rage has reached such a point by now that he can't even bring himself to be embraced without feeling that he has failed us. He needs to release his fury, his resentment. He feels he must fight to prove his self-worth. That is the only way, he feels, that he can let go and remind himself that he is not the helpless sparkling he once was.

My brother is haunted by the past. I know, he told me when I asked why he would not hold my servo as he once did.

: -**Warpspeed to Freefall- **_I have to do this. If the Autobots fall, then there is no hope for us. I cannot standby and watch that happen again._ : I feel it, a long-hidden pain seeping through the bond. : _I can't live my life knowing that I let that happen and did nothing to stop it. Not again. If the Autobots fall, then there will be nothing I can do to protect you from what Decepticon rule promises._ : His eyes are sharp now as they set on me, cold and calculating, but it is an ice-fire that burns within his spark.

I look up to him again, and feel my spark nearly break at what I am about to say but know has to be said. : **-Freefall to Warpspeed-** _I know, and I acknowledge what must be done._ : I look away, glancing about the floor as I struggle to continue. : _I will break the connections, but after, and only after, can assure you a place under Prime._ :

He nods, and offers me the high-grade once more. : **-Warpspeed to Freefall-** _You're going to need it when you go up against creator's firewalls._ :

For once, I do not deny the offering.

* * *

><p>Getting out of the warehouse had not been difficult, since I was the one who'd helped set up the defense systems and alerts to begin with, neither had disabling and rerouting creator's tracking chips. However, breaking her protective shielding around Warpspeed's location signals was going to be a whole other matter entirely, and she'd know the moment it was broken.<p>

From Warpspeed's and my position atop the abandoned freeway overlooking the vast, desert plain surrounding the city, we could see the array of explosions and gunfire flashing in the far distance. The sight would have been beautiful, if we hadn't known exactly what it was making those flickering lights.

"Freefall, you didn't have to follow me so close to the battle if you didn't want to." Warpspeed assures me with his composed voice, though I can feel the excitement stirring just beneath the surface. His vents are working so hard to cool his heated engines that I can practically feel the vibrations in his chassis.

I turn to him and smiled faintly. "Better reception up here. I don't want to misinterpret anything because of the distance." That wasn't a complete lie, I did get clearer transmissions when I was closer to the signals, but he knew better than to question since we both knew I got reception perfectly fine back at the base. Off-handedly, and because I was feeling nervous and unsure of myself, I chose to add. "This will be the first time I've actually ever talked to a Prime."

Truth was, I've forced a comm. link between someone and myself before when the situation called for it, but I'd never talked to a Prime. Just never had the courage to force a connection I guess.

Warpspeed smiled. It was small and just as nervous as my own, but it did wonders for my own resolve. "He sounds like a good leader. I know he'll forgive you if it's for the good of the Autobots." He sounded so sure. No, I knew he was sure. We'd listened to Optimus speak, both to friend and foe, more times than once.

With a nod, I looked back to the battle. "Here we go. I'll connect you to him the moment I can confirm he will accept you into his ranks, okay?"

He nods and I open the comm. transmissions so that I can find the right time to establish the connection with the Prime, allowing Warpspeed to listen in too so that he knows exactly what he maybe charging into.

Luckily, I still have all the non-battle related transmissions blocked.

- Starscream to trine- _Break formation!_ -

- Red Alert to Inferno- _Cover Prowl._ -

- Sludge to Dinobots- _I, Sludge, hit him, Vortex._ -

I listen to the battle comm.s pouring in and cringe a bit when one of the seekers, I believe the one called Thrust, begins screaming about his wing being hit on a particularly sensitive seam. Ten minutes later, and I hear the opening I've been waiting for.

- Jazz to Ratchet- _Prime's hit and needs repair, we're holdin' off the Decepti-scum from his position, but their gainin' ground._ -

Gathering all the courage I can, and with one wary glance to my brother, I lock onto the Prime's signal and open a connection. No turning back now.

: **-Unknown to Optimus-** _Optimus Prime, please acknowledge._ :

He does, and I nearly choke when for the first time he speaks directly to me and not to a subordinate with me merely listening. : **-Optimus to Unknown-** _Who are you and how did you get my comm. link?_ : His voice is calm and patient, if a bit startled, but I still shiver at the power, the brutality I know he is capable of: a true leader.

: _-_**Unknown to Optimus-** _I promise that more will be explained when the time is right, but please hear me out._ :

Silence, and I know from past experiences that he is thinking, determining if I am trust-worthy or a potential threat.

: **-Optimus to Unknown-** _Acknowledged._ : There is caution in his voice, but also acceptance.

I have not been interpreted as a threat.

A pulling on my mother's shield startles me, until I realize the Prime is probably trying to get a lock on my location by using the comm. link as a guide. Well, he won't get very far if my creator's firewalls are as strong as I remember them.

: **-Unknown to Optimus-** _You cannot locate us as of yet, but I have a potentially valuable young recruit with a deep desire to join the Autobot cause. We're neutrals who've been hiding on this planet for several deca-cycles and feel that we must help the Autobots in the war against the Decepticons if we are to survive._ : I wait with strained intakes for a reply, feeling the heat build up in my frame from the lack of ventilation.

He's discussing the matter with a few of his troops; Ironhide and Ratchet if I had to guess judging by the comm. reading I've been receiving, and is doing so out loud, directly. Meaning I cannot hear what he is saying to his guard or medic because I can only intercept comm. signals. The waiting is the worst part in these kinds of situations.

: **-Optimus to Unknown-** _Request accepted. Can you link Ratchet, Ironhide, and myself to this bot's frequency? _: My spark is vibrating so hard in my chassis I'm almost afraid that he can hear it through the comm.

No turning back. : **-Unknown to Optimus- **_Yes._ :

: **Optimus to Unknown-** _Good. We are awaiting their reply._ : His voice sounds a bit troubled, but I would be too if an unknown bot was messing with the comm. connections of myself and those I care about, but overall, he sounds relieved.

New recruits are not easy to come by these days. This I know.

I turn to my brother and give a small nod, face solemn despite the reassuring smile I try to give. He nods back, and we understand what is to happen next, the part we've both been dreading. With a signal-hacking chip, one I'd managed to design using some codes mother had given me to create the base barriers, and a focused shot of data through the weak spot in mom's firewall, I manage to sever creator's shield from Warp-Speed's systems, making him detectable to other bots.

Panic floods the bond instantly from creator's end, followed closely by Sunblazer's unease. Warpspeed and I send bursts of comfort over the bond, letting them know we're okay. Sunblazer immediately starts to send excited pulses over the bond when he realizes what is happening, but mother's end holds only dread.

I am in for it when I return to the hideout.

No turning back. This is for the best. It has to be. There is no other way.

"I guess this is goodbye then." I say, awkwardly. I feel lubricant building again, but I manage to suppress it. I cannot cry, not now.

He glances to me, and nods, but does not speak. Instead, I feel his side of the bond open to all of us and feel a massive rush of love and protectiveness fill the bond to the brink. He has never been good with words, but he doesn't need them. He's proven his love for us time and time again, and now, it's time I returned it.

Slowly, for the first time in years, I reach out and take his servo in mine, and do not let go even when he stiffens. "You will be a good soldier… I love you, Warpspeed." With that, I open up a comm. link between him and Optimus, rooting it out to Ironhide and Ratchet as well.

His back instantly becomes straighter as he hears the Prime's voice filter in through his audio receptors, directly to him for the first time. I cut my own connection from their private comm. link, knowing how important this moment is for Warpspeed and wanting this moment to be all his own. This is his moment, not mine.

I know it is a bit hypocritical to preach my brother's need to have this private moment all his own when I've been dropping in on others private comm.s all night, but I cannot help the way I feel. I love Warpspeed, and as with the rest of my family, put him on a pedestal where he cannot be reached. I do, however, limit myself to only intercepting links when it is important to protect my family. I do not particularly like listening in on other's conversations- most times it feels awkward if there's not a major battle to monitor- and cut links off immediately if they become too personal. Very conflicting ideals vs. actions situation I know.

To ensure that the Autobots will not be able to locate us through the private comm.s he shares with us, I know that Warpspeed has severed all communication links with us, all but our family bond. I know he has, because there is only a vast echoing within my audio receptors when I try to tell him goodbye one last time though our bond comm.

There is a faint squeeze on my servo before it is gone as quickly as it had come, and I am left standing alone, watching the on and off flicker of blue darting towards the battlefield. He may not exactly be warping, as his name suggests, but he darn well earned the title anyway. He disappears completely into the distance.

Now, he is only with us by spark.

There is a pull at my blocking shield again, but I ignore it. It seems that now that the Autobots know of my existence, they won't give up trying to locate me anytime soon. I know they probably mean well, most likely wanting to prevent me from being found and deactivated by the Decepticons since there are so few bots left, but I cannot just up and leave my creator and Sunblazer.

Admittedly though, I often crave the contact of other bots outside my family unit. I've been deprived of it for so long and my social meter is at a critically low point. Hopefully the tugging on the block will stop soon, and cease reminding me of what I cannot have.

I also wonder, curiosity, if they'll ever stop trying to find me until I am tucked away within their base, where they can be sure the Decepticons won't be able to so easily pull me into their ranks, or at least their brig. And for some selfish reason, I hope they don't.

* * *

><p>It's been two orbital-cycles now and fortunately creator had taken the news better than we'd thought she would, after her initial panic, and to my relief has finally accepted that it was probably for the best that Warpspeed was allowed to pursue a life with the Autobots. She has even started talking to me again, while Sunblazer, on the other servo, has not stopped talking to me about it since.<p>

We all sincerely hope Warpspeed has made new friends and is living contentedly in his new environment without us there as his support. If his bond signal were anything so go by though, I'd say he was settling in quite well.

However, there has been a development among the Autobot troops that I am still trying to wrap my processor around. It is just so strange, though a bit flattering at times. Apparently, Warpspeed let it slip one evening, when he was overcharged, that his elder sister was capable of intercepting private comm.'s and could have been listening in on them at that very moment in time if she'd wanted to.

What a shocking drunk confession that must have been for his fellow Autobots I'm sure, but at least now they knew why he'd sometimes sit by himself in a corner, open up a private comm. addressed to no one, and then talk the afternoon away about his day into the echoing silence. I may not be able to have a private comm. link with him anymore in fear of it being traced back to my location, but I can still listen if he just wants to talk.

Oh, how I wish I could answer the questions he now asks the silence he's come to identify as me.

At the news, some of the bots were rightfully shocked or outraged at this new information, a few of them however, some of the more mischievous and playful or just plain intrigued ones, saw it as a golden opportunity to get to know their new comrade's omniscient sister better. Let's just say I've become a bit of a celebrity among the Autobot ranks, much to my brother's mounting horror. He even gives me the details as to how my nonexistent existence has developed among the crew.

Now, much to Warpspeed's irritation, my new, crew-given name is Sister, since they never managed to get my actual name from Warpspeed despite how overcharged he was, and I'm now a light purple femme with blue eyes. I'm now two million stellar-cycles old, which is pretty close considering all the stellar-cycles they could have guessed, and love human knock-knock jokes- don't ask, I believe the twin called Sideswipe thought of that one.

Also, it's been rumored that if one talks to me at night I will protect them in battle. I don't now who came up with that one, but I have a suspicion it was Warpspeed himself. I think he's trying to emphasize to me his desire for the family to join him with the Autobots; Primus knows he's told me enough times in his one-sided chats that he wishes we were there with him. Not having to steal Energon from the power plant, and not having to constantly worry about Decepticon's discovering us.

However, I have not opened up any other comm. interceptions other than the one for my brother's, and despite his suggestion that I should at least listen to what some of the others have to say to me, I refuse to do so. I know that if I allow myself to hear their voices, to acknowledge that they also acknowledge me as a fellow bot and attempt a friendship with them, I will be swayed to join the Autobot ranks before creator is ready to do so. I want her to be with me when I go. Sunblazer will probably go sooner than both of us though.

Not all the Autobots seem so interested in creating an alternate-me as they are of meeting the real me though. I can say this with certainty by the constant tugging at my signal block and my brother's occasion mention of the Autobots who'd like to meet me and anyone else who's still in hiding with me. In particular, the one's known as Sideswipe, Red Alert, Jazz, Prowl, and Optimus have been constantly trying to coax as much information out of him as possible, and he told me he feels his resolve cracking a little more each day. So much so that he accidentally mentioned Sunblazer's existence while speaking to the one called Jazz.

I don't begrudge my brother's slip of the tongue. It must be difficult to keep a secret such as who one's family is in the face of friends who know you're withholding information and only want what they think is best. I feel my own resolve starting to crumble as well when I listen to tales of his and his friend's daily lives. Most of all though, I am swayed by the worry and melancholy I feel from the bond when he forgets to guard it away. He must feel more cut off from us than he'd thought, even with the bond still intact. I wish I could speak directly to him, but instead I send bursts of emotion over our bond as he speaks, to let him know I'm listening.

Like now…

-**Warpspeed to Link Error 3**- _Don't know if you're listening, but I wanted to let you know the twins have decided you're now yellow with black servos. Red Alert's determined to establish contact with you. Something about potential security enhancement…or endangerment. You scare him as much as you spark his respect. He's Head of Security after all and your abilities are probably a nightmare to him. I've also heard from Ironhide that he has a glitch and that learning of you abilities has thrown it into overtime. He thinks you're always listening in on his private chats and won't report to Prime about important security details unless it's spoken in private. He even got it into his processor that you read minds. He won't admit it though. Hopefully the twins won't find out or they'll torment him mercilessly. When you join us, it'd be best to explain your abilities and let him conform them himself. _-

I listen to him speak though the comm., and the moment he's through I send my amusement through the bond to let him know I'm listening. I feel a wave of relief from over the bond and am glad that I'd chosen to leave the comm. interception open for the day, even if it lead to some nasty processoraches.

-**Warpspeed to Link Error 3**- _You've become quite popular with the Dinobots. They're not the brightest bots, so when they heard of your abilities, well, lets just say they thought you were some kind of Primus creation. Your omniscience over comm. lines has them unnaturally fascinated. Luckily, Swoop has explained to his brothers that it is only an enhanced ability and that you're not Primus's descendent._ -

More amusement is sent over the bond at the thought of anyone thinking me a descendent of Primus. He replies with his own amusement before the bond connection becomes serious, dead serious, all traces of his mirth gone. Now that he has my attention, it's time to give me the actual news I suppose. I'd felt that sharp edge to his tone the whole time he'd been speaking. He probably feels my attentiveness over the bond.

-**Warpspeed to Link Error 3**- _You must convince creator to join the Autobots by the next stellar-cycle. Soundwave has gathered enough evidence to prove your existence and is working on a device that'll suppress your abilities and track them directly to you. This information came from Jazz. Not doubting your abilities, but the slagger is talented and has many more vons of experience than you in the communication field. Many of the Autobots are concerned, those who've heard Jazz's reports especially. It's not good. Soundwave not only discovered your existence and abilities, but also your overall location. Whether you're ready or not…I'm going to give the Autobots your location and lead them in escorting you all to base. Be sure you give creator pre-warning of our arrival, and if possible, calm Sunblazer before we get there. Ironhide's one to shoot first, ask questions later._ -

A cold feeling settles in my spark at the news, but it is not as shocking as it would've been if I'd not been expecting this for some time. I've heard of Soundwave's work before, the precision, heard the rumors, and it does not surprise me that it was him to discover another communications specialist- if I can be rightfully called that- in his general area- yes, being on the same planet counts as a general area. If anything, this only proves that sending Warpspeed to the Autobots had been the right choice, because sooner or later Soundwave would have discovered us, and has my brother not been there, we'd have had no warning and no where to go.

For the first time in orbital-cycles, I open a private comm. with my brother. :**Freefall to Warpspeed- **_I've missed you so much._ : Not very professional I know, but it's all I could get out after so long of only being able to listen. I've wanted to tell him that for so long.

He opens up our bond link once more. :: -**Warpspeed to Freefall**- _Yeah, I know_. ::

* * *

><p>Mother was not taking the news so well, and though she had, if reluctantly, agreed it was best for us to seek refuge with the Autobots, it didn't mean she was happy about it. The whole time we headed back to the hideout from the south lookout point of the city, she'd been tense, telling me that I was to be careful when we got to the Autobot base and that I was not to be alone with any of the unknown bots unless it was the medic for checkups. The growing unease she was feeling leaked through the bond, and I sent her comfort in return. I don't know what had happened in those early stellar-cycles to make her fear the fractions so much, but it must have been bad because she's never trusted them.<p>

Sunblazer on the other hand had been literally jumping off buildings and climbing up walls in his excitement- undoubtedly straining his still developing gravity repulsion shield…

The world seemed to suddenly lurch dangerously to the side, and I was thrown

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Hahahahaha! I stopped halfway through a sentence when I wrote this about a year or so ago! I'm not completing the sentence either because I find it hilarious and I want to troll my friend! (Explanation: One of my friends absolutely hates how I do that. She'll be looking through one of my stories, giving me her opinion on it, and then BAM, there it is, incomplete sentence. She gives me the unamused look every time. LOL!) But worry not, for this is the ONLY time I will leave a fic with an incomplete sentence dangling at the end.

**SN:** Now that this OC story fragment is no longer an eyesore in my folder, I can now concentrate more readily on other fics. Does anyone have a request? If not, I'm thinking of ending this particular collection of oneshots soon so I can do other things.

**You don't have to review if you don't want to, just give me a request.**


	17. Child Mine

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbated. Hurt/comfort and angst.

**Pairing:** Ratchet and First Aid

**Rating:** T

**Author's Note:** Thank you **Qwertzu **and **Iggy12727** for reviewing and sending in requests, they made me happy! Anyway, this was a Ratchet/First Aid parental ficlet requested by **Qwertzu**. I hope you like it and it's what you were looking for! Also, to **Iggy12727**, I am about to start the fic you requested as well. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it yet, but I'll think of something. Enjoy!

**(Will edit this at a later date.)**

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><p><strong>Prompt: Child Mine<strong>

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><p>Screaming, begging, pleading for lives he could not save and the sight of once bright optics going dark forever beneath his aching hands. The rebellions had become far worse than anyone could have imagined, an endless sea of frames grayed and graying flooding through never closing doors, combatants and civilians all suffering, put through tortures and pain unprecedented, and now- this.<p>

Primus save them.

Ratchet stared down with pointed optics at the small bundles that'd been presented at his clinic's doors in the dead of night, something akin to rage trickling down his spinal strut, but it was cold and deep throbbing and settled uneasily in his systems, nothing like the scorching heat prickling over plating that he knew as anger. In all his functioning, he'd never though, never could have imagined that anyone would be capable of what he had witnessed, was witnessing.

It was not ethical; it was unacceptable. It was wrong, and the pained screeching and broken whimpers from the shivering bundles only cemented that fact in the medic's mind. His innards writhed in anguish, his fists tightening till the metal of his knuckles creaked and his hydraulics hissed at the abuse.

He cursed this uprising; he cursed the fools who would do such atrocities to mere sparklings, but mostly, he cursed himself for not being able to do more.

Beside him, Wheeljack laid a steady hand on his shoulder, grounding him. Ratchet only shrugged the hand off, his entire frame feeling foul at the lingering dregs of revulsion threatening to overtake him.

His silence only broke when he was sure he would not explode in fury. The young ones at his peds did not need such unsavory occurrences on top of the trauma they were no doubt experiencing even as he fully assessed the situation.

The sparklings were not even out of their gray coloring yet.

"Wheeljack." The medic looked to his friend, his usually blazing optics finally giving way to something tired and unspeakably sad, mouth wrought in an expression of grim acceptance. But as soon as that expression fell upon his features, it was replaced with liquid fire, an unparalleled passion to preserve and protect life the likes of which Cybertron had seldom seen. "Prepare the spark monitors and prep the energon dips; 5-3 compound medi-grade abstract, two liters of preprocessed lubricants. I want these sparklings monitored closely for the next three deca-cycles and if there's any change in their current status I want to know immediately."

Steady, life-giving hands reached down and took the small bundles in his arms, with patience and care unheard of in his temperament, his voice, usually so stern and commanding, now but a humming whisper as he comforted the writhing sparklings in his grasp. "It's okay. I've got you."

And he held them close as he followed Wheeljack back into the clinic, back rigid and lips twisted in a scowl, his red, life-saving hands gently caressing the tiny helms held so tenderly against his pulsing spark chamber.

He could not do much to stop the rising war, but he be damned if he didn't do what he could.

* * *

><p>"Watchet?" A soft, timid voice inquired hesitantly, tiny hand rung tightly and peds still unsteady from youth. "Am I a malfunction?"<p>

Ratchet's optics blazed at the question, his entire posture taking on a defensive stance even as he was wiping down the medberth. "Why do you ask? Did someone say that?" His optics gleamed with something dark, something terrifying, and First Aid, understanding the indications of this even at such a young age, shook his helm frantically.

The Pits know no wrath like Ratchet defending his younglings. Needless to say, after the first fool let slip his discontent with having a reprogrammed Gestalt component hovering about the medbay at the head medic's peds, not many dared bring up the unsightly nature of First Aid and his brother's origins again, even out of range of the medic's hearing.

A well-known fact in the Autobot fraction, Ratchet had many audio receptors at his call and just as many optics at his disposal. It was always good to be on the medic's good side, though many would protest the existence of this- namely the twins.

"No, no. It's just-" He paused, shy and flustered under his most important bot's attention, but the expectant look on Ratchet's face spurred him to continued. "It's just that sometimes, I feel like my brothers and I are not as close as we could be." An expression passed over Ratchet's features that the tiny youngling did not know, and First Aid startled. "I'm sowy. I didn't- I mean-" And he lowered his helm, hiding his face from his guardian, unable to look him in the optic. "I wove them. I just don't why I feel wike this."

A gentle hand lifted the younglings chin, and First Aid broke down at the contact, latching on to his guardian's hand and weeping in confusion and frustration.

"Watchet!" The youngling wailed, optics flashing and lubricant escaping from below the newly installed visor, choking sobs breaking his sentences to near incoherent babbles. "I don't know wat to do. I wove them and I wove you and guardian 'Jackie, but I feel all wrong inside." And he cried harder, huffing for air to cool his straining intakes and clawing at Ratchet's hand to force him closer, leaving long jagged marks in the red armor. "Watchet!"

Gentle hands plucked the youngling from the floor and cradled the small form to his chassis, soothing the young one with tender caresses on the helm and across the back. He placed a tender kiss on the helm, unbothered by the lubricates staining his once pristine chassis, wiping away the tears upon the small face with a polishing cloth.

"It's okay 'Aid. The feelings will go away with time. Just know that we all love you very much and that you are perfect the way you are." He tightened his hold on the youngling, pressing him more firmly to himself in comfort. "We love you, and we always will."

That day, Ratchet held First Aid as he cried himself into recharge.

Later that night, he curled up beside his bondmate, the younglings tucked away in the room adjoining theirs, and told the inventor how much he hoped the younglings sparks would synchronized before the strain killed them all.

Wheeljack agreed, and held his bondmate close as the battle-hardened, unshakable medic he'd fallen in love with finally succumbed to tears of his own.

* * *

><p>Delicate red hands hesitated, his long, dexterous fingers tense and palm seeming to freeze as a cold wave of doubt crept through his circuits, subtle and lingering but stilling him as icy fingers seemed to caress the inner workings of his spark. Optics, hidden by a visor but still so expressive in its shades, brightened and dimmed in uncertainty, looking up to the bot standing beside him, calm and professional and in his young optics, regal in stature.<p>

How could he ever hope to measure up to a bot so grand, so renowned, so devoted?

"Ratchet." First Aid said uncertainly, still unable to touch the lax frame laid out before him, afraid of failure and the potential disappointment from a bot he had come to see as his guardian. "I don't think- I don't think I can do this." Silence, eerie and unrelenting it was, and the young bot looked away from his mentor, spark heavy with insecurity. "I wasn't programmed for this. I'm not a medic. I-"

"You done with your griping, First Aid?" Ratchet interrupted, optics sharp and burning with intensity, so very unnerving for a bot so young to be subjected to, thin mouth curled most unpleasantly.

Tough love: raw and unadulterated. If Ratchet gave anything to his young charges when they needed it, it was that.

"You are what you make yourself to be, and I did not raise my sparkling to wallow in self-pity. Now suck up whatever misgivings you have and put some effort forth. You're the one who came to me seeking training to become a medic and I don't waste my time on bots that don't pull their own weight." And those pointed ice-blue optics captured the younger bot's gaze, determined and steadfast, fueled by years of experience and hardship. "You have the talent- and the passion, but what you need is confidence. Something you will never get if you give up now." Then those optics softened, just the slightest bit, but to First Aid it was the entire world to him. "Just remember to keep your hands steady and remember your training. Improvising will come with experience."

Still unsure, but noticeably more relaxed at those words, First Aid nodded but said not a word more. In the world that was Ratchet's medbay, words were a thing of teaching and guidance, compliance and understanding were demonstrated through action, for as Ratchet had taught his sparklings early on, "_Words are useless if they say nothing useful_".

The young bot truly believed that, just as much as his mentor did.

Filled with new determination, First Aid turned back to the frame and set to work diagnosing the preset symptoms, checking temperature and energy levels, searching for damages and deformities with swift, nimble fingers, scanning for causes of malfunctions unknown with dead on precision, optics bright and expression pulled taunt in determination, lips firm and frame positioned just so.

So caught up in his work as he was, First Aid did not see the gentle smile that grace his mentor's lips, or the pride that shone softly in his optics.

_First Aid is a bot reprogrammed with the makings of a Gestalt component_, they had said when Ratchet had announced his desire to teach the youngling the medical training he sought, _he was built for war, he was not created in the way of civilian Gestalt, and that is all he was programmed to learn. He and his brothers were built for no other purpose._

_Conceited fools._ Ratchet snorted inwardly, watching as the small, inexperienced hands of his student lifted the piece of armor containing the contaminate, a small, just there smile gracing his still youthful face below the brightening visor. _They know nothing_.

* * *

><p>The day Ratchet arrived at the Autobot headquarters with a monstrously large, but obviously young, bot in toe, First Aid found a small part of himself begin writhe in something too unsettlingly similar to despair.<p>

_So that was one of guardian Ratchet and Wheeljack's creations- their real creations._ He thought silently, optics dimming.

Despite his gentle smile and kind optics, his natural desire to make a good impression with his guardian's legitimate creation and be kind to one so young, something deep and primitive reared it's ugly head within First Aid's spark; jealousy.

"First Aid, this is my creation, Swoop." Ratchet introduced his young assistant to the rather primitive looking bot standing- towering- beside him with sharp, steadfast optics that seemed to lay siege to the young medic's very spark. "He'll be your assistant training under my guidance for the time being."

First Aid, shocked but not wanting to appear prejudice against the larger bot's appearance, which he honestly wasn't, merely nodded and held out his hand in greeting to the recently released dinobot. "I am First Aid. It is nice to finally meet you."

Swoop look down at the hand, his blue-chilled optics observing it- for what First Aid knew not- before that piercing gaze met his optics. "Me, Swoop knows your name. Him, creator Ratchet, just said it. You, First Aid, know my name Swoop too." But despite the words, Swoop still took the hand in a firm handshake. "Nice to meet you too. Him, creator Ratchet, speaks highly of you, First Aid."

Visor brightening, First Aid chanced a skeptical glance to his guardian, only to find Ratchet already taking inventory at the other end of the medbay.

A little known fact: Ratchet didn't compliment anyone, unless you somehow managed to get Megatron to admit he was wrong in his ideals and his cause was no longer the one worth fighting for- which wasn't going to happen anytime soon- or getting Prowl to admit he really needed to get fragged because the tension in his wings was not healthy- which may never happen, though Jazz had reservations about this.

When First Aid turned his gaze back to the dinobot he was greeted by the sight of the pterodactyl leveling him with a knowing stare that unnerved the young medic. That massive helm was tilted just so, clawed fingers clicking subtly as the hand moved.

"Your optics are like him, Grimlock's." The pterodactyl said suddenly, and First Aid was taken aback by this.

"Excuse me."

Swoop frowned, his optics hooding, and First Aid got the impression of the larger bot rolling his optics at him.

"Him, Grimlock, want to be Autobot leader, be accepted, but him, Grimlock, cannot be Autobot leader while him, Optimus, Autobot leader. So him, Grimlock, become Dinobot leader instead." The larger bot pointed to the smaller medic then, but First Aid could not bring himself to look away from those optics. "You, First Aid, want to be him, Ratchet's, creation, be accepted by him, but you, First Aid cannot be real creation. So you, First Aid, become assistant, become important, like leader."

First Aid, didn't know what to say to that. To say this was not true would be a lie, but to say yes would just sound selfish on his part.

Swoop noticed the hesitation in the other's optics, understanding it for what it was, and continued. "It's okay. Him, Grimlock, is selfish- mean too, but me, Swoop, still love him because him, Grimlock, is brother."

Then Swoop shuttered his optics, taking First Aid's hand in his own, squeezing just enough to not crush the slim hand in his own. First Aid recognized the gesture for what it was, and it startled him how similar it had been to himself long ago, when he had been young and the world had been a confusing and terrifying place.

"We, Dinobots, not very smart, but smart enough to know them, Autobots, don't like us, Dinobots. Says Dinobots dangerous and dumb, so Dinobots don't like them either. But me, Swoop, and brothers all love you, First Aid, and your brothers because him, creator Ratchet, said you are all our brothers too." Swoop explained, looking very young and vulnerable despite his size, and First Aid could not bring himself to fault the large, seemingly unmovable warrior this weakness.

Something within First Aid surged in the most pleasant of ways, but despite the sudden need to cry in relief, he remained professional about it and withheld the tears. However, he did squeeze the hand back in assurance.

"Any creation of Ratchet's is a brother to me." The small medic finally said, smiling brightly as the pterodactyl seemed to relax at the words, a small smile of his own just barely gracing his lips.

A gruff, irritable voice suddenly broke through the silent understanding between the two young assistants. "You're both my creations and I don't remember teaching my creations to lazy about the medbay talking, now move your afts and help me prepare the medbay. That equipment isn't going to prep itself." Ratchet glared impatiently at his creations, mouth wrought in a scowl, but his optics held none of this, only relieved affection.

Swoop nodded, releasing the smaller bot's hand and moving off the check the conditions of the monitors, examining it curiously with those inquisitive optics of his.

Just as First Aid was about to move off to cleanse the surgical equipment, a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked back to his guardian inquiringly.

"First Aid." Ratchet said gruffly, looking First Aid in the optics. "Help me keep an optic on him. Swoop can be a bit of a handful at times. Mouthy little bugger too when he gets into one on his moods."

The small bot smiled reassuringly and patted his guardian's hand. "I don't doubt that."

Ratchet nodded, before a smile suddenly crossed his features. "I'm proud of you for taking Swoop under your wing as his older brother. He needs the support and guidance." He shook his helm wearily. "The others just don't understand." And with that, Ratchet moved off to instruct his new assistant as to how to properly inspect the monitoring equipment, snapping off instructions as he did so.

A fond smile graced First Aids lips, the ache in his spark subsiding to something warm and genuine.

Of course he'd taken Swoop under his care. He'd learned compassion from the best after all.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>It's so cute! First Aid, you are just too adorable. Anyway, hope you liked it.

**Please review…**


	18. One in the Same

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Non-graphic rape, angst, violence, etc. This is not a happy, feel-good story.

**Pairing:** Jazz/Prowl, implied Twins/Ratchet, one-sided ?/Ratchet

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for your reviews- no matter what chapter they're on- they honestly do make me feel happy and encourage me to write. To **Iggy12727, **my apologies for having taken so long, but I was having trouble finding time to write due to life and was also not sure what to do with the prompt you gave me- I've restarted it about three times. I am not sure if this is the kind of story you wanted, but I can only hope it at least brings you some entertainment. Please enjoy!

(**Will edit later, but please point any mistakes you find as you see fit.**)

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><p><strong>Prompt- One in the Same<strong>

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><p>Really, when one thought about it, it wasn't so unexpected that this would happen eventually. While it was true Megatron was not necessarily known for his expert planning, and more often than not tended to overlook key tactics of warfare which did not involve one bot with a 3 meter long cannon shoved unceremoniously up their tailpipe, he was by no means stupid. When all was said and done, Megatron was still every bit as lethal as he'd always been.<p>

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that.

But not this day, not when Optimus had tasted the glory of triumph in yet another battle, protecting the lives of innocent creatures no taller than his knee guards as was his nature, only to taste the bittersweet sting of reality when the smoke had cleared from scorched lands and one was found to be missing among his ranks.

Ratchet was gone, and somewhere in the mud and the tarring energon still pooling at the soldier's peds and the land as dead and barren as Cybertron itself, lay a wench, forgotten, and so very small in the trench in which it rests.

Sideswipe was the first to cry out in anguish, and many soon followed.

Optimus- remained silent.

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><p>Two earth days, and even under pain of torture and threats of horrors unsavory, the Decepticons had not gotten a thing out of the medic, and Ratchet was damn proud to say that Soundwave had only gotten past his third firewall before the telepath had all but reeled back in disgust and unease.<p>

Let it be known that Ratchet's got a mouth on him, and even more so than that he is a medic, and medics know things, things even bots as inclined to gathering knowledge as Soundwave dare not tread. For as it was once said, in the beginning the Autobots and Decepticons were just cybertronians, a race of beings of metal and sparks, and as such not all Decepticons were as adept to depravity as lets say, Shockwave.

For Ratchet, nightmares are not dreams; they are the apathetic optics of one with a scalpel in their hand.

And so Ratchet was left to dangle, with his armor mangled and his optics dim and energon, sweet and eerie against his graying color, running from the cut on his cheek to caress his shaking frame in sensations unpleasant.

But Soundwave would be back. He always came back.

Always.

* * *

><p>Hook is not so bad a companion, when his temper is cooled by the lingering tinge of good energon and the promise of like-minded conversation, and Ratchet finds he is not as adverse to the company of the other medic as he should be. Still, he is wary, and their interactions have not strayed far from their discussion of medical inquiry and surgical curiosities.<p>

Sometimes, when Hook is feeling especially bold, he may even repair a few of Ratchet's injuries, if only to prolong their suspended lull of midnight discussion and unspoken sympathies, for though Hook was never one to emphasize with the pain of others, he understands pride in one's work, and the good medic's hands have been idle for far too long.

* * *

><p>Prowl is unsettled, to put it lightly, and somewhere in his spark he feels a shiver of dread take hold. But he is a tactician, the Autobot's second in command, and he knows his duties to his cause and to his comrades.<p>

He will not be swayed by the passions of his spark, he will not crumble before the endless stream of casualties marked in a stroke of red and the adding of a neat, measured digit delicately into a sequence of growing numbers at his fingertips. He is strong, he is steadfast, he will persevere as he always has, he will not give in to temptation.

He is a bot of moral and logic and honor. He knows a plan is needed, as Autobot plan, an honorable plan, a righteous plan, a noble plan, a plan to be proud of, and he will be sure they have it.

But still, the gentle whisper in his spark is tempting, so very tempting, and so very real.

* * *

><p>The nights and days are as one, an endless void of anything distinct in all general senses of the word. The aches of Ratchet's frame untended and his thoughts untaken are so very lonely in his darkened little chamber, so very much real.<p>

Megatron had long since discovered of Hook's growing familiarity with the Autobot medic and put an end to it in much the same way he ended most things- with a cannon at his side and hissing threat on his glossa.

Ratchet had questioned if Megatron really intended to kill his medic, or if he was all talk, as he'd always been, even before the war when to be a Decepticon meant something and honor did not have a price labeled upon it.

Megatron had beaten Ratchet unconscious that cycle and the medic had awoken to find his hands, his life-saving hands, his precious, precious hands, crushed at his sides.

He cried that orn, but he still has not broken- and he is damn proud of that.

* * *

><p>In this world of flickering shadows in sightless corners and pain unheard even in the echoing voids through silent halls, trapped deep under the darkest waters of this planet with the smell of musty things untouched and oils uncleansed, Ratchet watches. His damaged hands tremble from pain and his spark wavers with nightmares made real and the knowledge that gentle caresses will wake him should he ever lose sight of truths unveiled.<p>

That day, in the darkness with the must and the oils unseen, clawed hands caress him with tenderness unwanted and sooth the struggling medic into a gentle embrace. Curled lips taking from the medic tender affections as from his frame he takes his wicked pleasures, vicious and uncaring, so unlike the lips placed so sweetly against the medic's dented cheek.

And Ratchet is silent, for none will hear and he is too tired to fight, too tired not to choose his battles in matters of the spark and frame.

Only their labored venting can be heard, a very sad and lonely sound.

* * *

><p>Thirty-four days in captivity, and the Autobots had finally come to reclaim their medic.<p>

Ratchet can hear the battle aboard the sunken ship, can smell the spilt energon and taste the bitterness of metal burned floating down from the vents above, can see the grizzly fog of rust that coats the ground and walls around him. The ship rocks and Ratchet feels the motion in his very struts, the quivering of his spark, even the rippling of the salty ocean currents are not missed.

His guard can hear it too, can smell it, can taste it, the one with the twisted smile that's never been sated and the visored optics that watch the medic day, after day, after day, after day, and hands that touch the medic's frame, and caress the medic's face, and tears the medic's armor off as he smiles his smile and kisses him softly and whispers, '_My little Autobot, my dear little Autobot. Sweet, innocent Ratchet._'

He is a very disturbed bot, and for the most part, Ratchet has learned to ignore him, but now he is watching Ratchet again with that all too familiar fervor in his gaze. And once more Ratchet cannot find it in himself to back down from such a challenge of wills and raises his helm to catch the other's gaze, his optics liquid fire and his expression set in stone.

_I am not yours_, they say.

And the other fingers the key in his hand, smiling so sweetly, its meaning not lost on the medic. _We'll see about that._

* * *

><p>Sunstreaker is not so much transfixed on the though of proving the little menace wrong as he is compelled to do so by the simple notion that he can indeed shove Soundwave's tiny terror up another Decepticon's aft, even at the cost of his paint job and the promise of a royal smack down once the Hatchet is back safely in the Ark where he belongs. Also, he is terribly mad about Ratchet having been gone for so long, and maybe a little unstable at the moment given recent light as to Ratchet's current condition via way of Mirage's skills.<p>

Perhaps he is not in his right mind, and Sideswipe's gentle whispers of encouragement and reminders of the once unshakable bot now hanging limply with his hands crushed at his sides has done nothing to cool his heated temper.

In this knowledge, he proceeds to grab hold of the purple nuisance by a flailing limb, flip gracefully over the back of Longhaul's flatbed, and shove the cassette-menace Rumble unceremoniously down Mixmaster's mixing cylinder with a most unpleasant crackle of splitting metal. It is truly a horrifying thing to behold, something carnal and unsettling.

Mixmaster's howls of pain and Soundwave's gasp of terror truly sent a shiver down the collected Decepticon body, as is to be expected.

The twins are unusually unhinged this battle.

Though when one truly stopped to think about it, this was not all that surprising really, for is it not true that the Autobots are also warriors, and all warriors, no matter their faction, are capable of such monstrosities, all they need, is the right push.

But nothing is perhaps more sinister than the flickering blue visor creeping steadily through the shadows of the ventilation systems, his venting so low as to become a steady beating and his very spark a hum to his own audio receptors- and the little voice of his sparkmate telling him that this is okay because no one will ever know what has been done in the shadows of the saboteur's world.

* * *

><p>Drip, drip, drip.<p>

Ratchet can hear it as clearly as he can hear the screaming above him, can smell the turbulence of battle and chaos, the sound of something leaking down the vents, and even with 3 Combaticons guards- guards who would so easily take his life- but a few feet away, he feels that something all the more sinister is at work. It caresses at him like a physical touch, and his most attentive guard seems to sense it too.

His optics flicker, watching as the guard turns his visored gaze to the vents above and merely watches, smile curled and blades fanned behind him like great black wings perched for flight, so very excited to be meeting the new face.

Vortex truly is an unsavory creature, childishness twisted by sinful desires.

Perhaps he is a breed of monster all his own.

The lights flicker, red to black to startling white, and the dripping becomes louder, drowning out even the bellows of Optimus's mighty battle cry far above in the upper levels. The gentle lullaby echoing through the vents above, so low and eerie in its timber, unsettling some of the gathered Combaticons with its sweet clarity is not unfamiliar to the medic.

That is what makes it unnerving.

When one guard moves off to check the area, it is the screaming that rouses the medic's attentions to the halls beyond his sight, pained sounds that haunt the lower levels beyond the flashing lights and blaring alarms.

They are Swindle's cries, and it is Brawl who runs to the other's aid.

The tank screams only once before all is silent, but for the blaring of the alarms.

A low chuckle, and for reasons Ratchet wishes he did not understand so well, it is Vortex who has done so.

"Jazzy, Jazzy, Jazz. It's been such a long time since we've last played." And he is laughing, a thing neither forced nor bitter, but sooth and light, almost genuine.

Yes, Ratchet understands. He remembers treating the saboteur the time he'd escape his captivity with the Decepticons so many vorns ago, after having been tormented so thoroughly by the Decepticon interrogator. The energon dripping from his frame, the crushed armor at his sides, but most of all, the wild, intense stare in his gaze, that dark, unwavering stare behind that too dim visor and too calm expression.

How could he forget such a sight, such a day, such a question as it'd slipped from the half-conscious saboteur's lips?

_Ratchet, is it wrong that the only reason I came back was for Prowl?_

_No_, the medic had replied readily, too readily. He had not understood at the time, and it was not until much later that the medic himself finally begun to realize what Jazz had meant by that.

_In the beginning, the Autobots and Decepticons were just cybertronians, a race of beings of metal and sparks._ It was Optimus who had told Ratchet that, and Ratchet had understood it to mean that even the Decepticons could come to see that there was a better way to live, that even they had the capacity for good.

It would be later that Jazz's question would stark the inquiry to come in the medics spark.

_If the Decepticons have the capacity for good, then would that not mean that Autobot's have the same capacity for evil as well?_ It was when he thought these things, that Ratchet begun to understand the sadness in which Optimus had told him those words many, many stellar-cycles ago.

From the shadows Jazz emerges, his expression blank but his visor dim and his mouth wrought unpleasantly. "It has, hasn't it, but this time ah won't leave this place 'til ya an' this entire ship are destroyed." And he turns his gaze on the medic, his mouth easing up to his familiar smile. "Da Twins miss ya."

Ratchet remains silent but nods in understanding, knowing that now is not the time for him to speak and that he will bear witness to a battle long hidden in the shadows of the Autobot ranks. He had come to understand what it was that Jazz meant by that question so long ago.

Vortex smirks. "Your keeper finally gave in."

A dark smile, sharp and thin like a fine-edged razor. "Meh _sparkmate_ says da Decepticons have a bad influence on meh, an' d'erefore it'd only be logical ta do away with 'em."

Vortex laughs, red visor flashing and rotary blades trembling in mirth. "You were the best the Decepticon's had to offer. Too bad you fell for such a _upstanding_ bot."

Jazz pulled a blade from his subspace, inspecting it for imperfections; he found none. "Ah'm still da best. Ah just play for a new team is all." He took his stance. "Ah told ya I'd come back for ya didn't ah?"

"Going in the old fashion way, hn? I like that about you." Vortex took a blade from his own subspace, whirling it around his palm and testing its sharpness. "Been looking forward to this."

"Ah know."

Ratchet, simply leaned back into his restrains and waited.

* * *

><p>That day, the Autobot's came through victorious, the Decepticons were no more- their ranks little more than a few straggling drones- and a great celebration was held to welcome Ratchet, their bad-tempered, wench-throwing head medic and most trusted friend, back into the safety of the Autobot ranks. Energon was drunk in abandon and laughter filled the Ark's halls with echoes of momentary bliss.<p>

However, even those echoes of joy sounded hollow through the empty halls of the Ark.

Now that the Decepticons were gone, peace would finally come to the cybertronian race, peace would finally be within their grasp. This is what was told, so this was what was believed.

It was only those who'd truly understood Optimus's words who'd not been surprised when a new faction arose from within the Autobot's very ranks, seeking a new kind of power, a new kind of goal not so very different in nature to that of the Deceptions before them.

_In the beginning, the Autobots and Decepticons were just cybertronians, a race of beings of metal and sparks. But if in understanding that the Decepticons have the capacity for good, then would that not mean that Autobot's have the same capacity for evil as well?_

In the end, it seems, they are just cybertronian after all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> I know some of it maybe kind of confusing, but I hope the meaning of it all was not lost in the fast-pace and purposefully placed scenes. Anyway, poor Ratchet, I'm sorry for what I did to you, but it was for a reason I swear. I still love you!

**Please review…**


	19. Unconditionally

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbetaed. Also, no direct mentioning of Transformers in this oneshot, just the idea that they're there.

**Pairing:** None

**AN:** Hello! Thank you everyone for your reviews, they mean a lot to me and brighten my day, be them good, bad, or a little of both, but preferably good. LOL! Anyway, this is just another short clip into the life of an OC I had up. Hope you enjoy it, if only a little.

**Details:** I want to make this a full-length story, but I'm not sure if I ever will, so I just decided to post this up for anyone else who might see an idea or two within it that they wish to incorporate into their own stories. I don't mind sharing, if anything, it pleases me to see ideas being passed around.

(**Will edit later, but feel free to point out mistakes as you see them…**)

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><p><strong>Prompt- Unconditionally<strong>

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><p>I gently hushed the baby in my arms, rubbing his back and holding him firmly to my breast, trying to hide him from the world crashing down around us. The sounds of screams and gunfire drowned out the wails of fear and confusion that ripped from his tiny throat, and I could do naught more than caress his small body and try to comfort him with my words- words that were rapidly failing as fear began to constrict my own voice.<p>

An animalistic snarl broke through the white noise of death and war, and I found myself suddenly attuned to the sound, sensing on some primal instinct that it was close. The hairs on my neck tingled and my entire body washed with a bone-chilling sensation of falling. The sound came again, closer than before, and I immediately broke out into a run, tearing out from behind the island bar and blindly dashing through the collapsing halls for all I was worth, shielding the tiny body in my arms as debris continued to rain down upon us. Fear and adrenaline fueled my renewed fight or flight reflex, and I felt myself moving with a frenzied grace I'd never thought my body capable of.

The growl came again, and I could hear the screeching and clanking of metal sliding and pounding against tile floors, coming ever closer. I had not the mental strength to look back at my pursuer, for my mind could think of nothing pass the mantra of 'Run, run, run' and the feel of my brother in my arms. In my arms the child screeched at the way I whipped around corners and jumped over fallen obstacles, rattling him uncomfortably in my grasp.

A door came into my vision, cracked open and light shining through from the outside world, and I made a dash for it, my legs beginning to wear out after two intense minutes of running. I rammed through the door with my shoulder, covering the infant's fragile head with my hand and blindly plowed through anything in the way.

I distantly registered a frightened scream as I impacted something firm but not unmovable on my way to the street, sending it to the ground with a hard thud with my momentum, but in my frenzied state I did not stop to see what or who I'd run into. All I could think about was my young brother in my arms and the death that would surely follow should I falter even for a moment.

As I whipped around the block corner, I hear that feral growl from before and a scream of pain behind me, long and hard and helpless. I did not stop though. I held the infant closer and did not stop, but somewhere in the back of my mind that scream echoed, and I knew, even with all the chaos around me, that I'd remember that scream long after this city had fallen.

* * *

><p>It's silent now, the baby in my arms sleeping after having cried himself out and the outside world beyond the darkness encasing us blocked by layers of concrete. It is in this darkness that I finally feel the pain in my legs and the sting of cuts along my arms and back. It is also in the darkness that I feel the trauma setting in, the realization that this is happening and the things I've done to survive.<p>

I remember how I'd unthinkingly pushed people out of my way to get to safety, how I held my young brother to my chest and hid from the mechanical monsters prowling the streets, watching as others were torn to pieces but never once stepping in to help. All I could think about was my brother's and my survival, and at the time nothing else mattered- _no one_ else mattered. And even now, with the guilt weighting so heavily over my heart, I cannot bring myself to regret my choice, and I probably never will.

Does that make me a bad person? Just another mindless creature in the face of certain death, one who thinks only of their own survival and discards the value of others in favor of themselves?

I reason that it was for my brother, that so long as he is safe I would do anything I must to insure his continued well-being, that it is my duty and my purpose to do so, and I accept this for in my heart I know this is my truth. Still, I cannot so easily wash away the guilt and the fear, the knowing that I had sacrificed others for the continuing of our own lives- even if I had not been purposely intending to do so in my panicked frenzy. Perhaps it is survivor's guilt. I can already sense the post-traumatic stress disorder settling in, so this is not impossible. Either way, the feeling in my chest is deep and cold, counteracted only by the soft, but heavy and warm body of my brother resting against me.

I know not when it happened, but sometimes between sitting in the darkness and waiting for some sign that it was safe to wonder out of our little shelter- if it was even possible at this point. I must have fallen asleep, for I startled awake when the pounding of rubble shook the walls around us.

"_Is anyone down there? Can you hear me?_"

I recognize it as a man's voice, muffled and tired, but most certainly human. My heart lightens a bit, my grip on my brother tightening, a rare kind of hope.

"Help!" I try to scream, but it is low and hoarse, like I've been sucking down pencil shavings for an hour. It most certainly will not be heard so far down.

That is when I notice how difficult it has become to breath. I surge of panic swells up inside me, but unlike before I can control it in this less split-second decisions environment. I take a brief moment to calm myself, before feeling around and grabbing a palm-sized piece of rubble beside me. The moment it's in my hand I slam it as hard as I can to the wall.

I sound is almost painful and my brother wakes up screaming, terrified of the sudden noise. I whisper an apology to him and rub his back.

"_I think someone's down there._"

I hit the wall again and again in rapid succession, trying to limit my breathing as I do so. It is hard though, and my body aches sharply with each movement. But I push pass it, reminding myself that my brother is worth the pain if it means his survival, that I can endure anything for him, and this helps a lot with my resolve.

There is more pounding on the walls around us, this time with much more vigor, and I can all but feel the rock being lifted from around us. It is a wonderful feeling.

My brother, not understanding that such sounds are a good thing in our current situation, wails again, and I can do nothing more than hold him and control my breathing, trying to make it last. I hope my brother does not use up all the air with his gasping cries.

They are close, I can feel it, and I curl myself protectively around my brother, sheltering him from the falling debris raining down on us. A good sized chunk of concrete hits my side, but I grit my teeth in a silent hiss and kiss my brothers face and hands, cooing at him and covering his ears with my hands. Still, he is frightened, and I can do nothing more than use my body as a barrier to shield him from the worst of it.

I feel a very distinct trickle of warmth down my side, down my face and down my arms. I ignore it, for the most part, but the tightening of my lungs is becoming harder and harder to ignore, as is the gasping of my young brother. I wonder briefly, morbidly, if we will die down here of suffocation after all I've done to get us this far. The thought does not settle well with me, and I hold my breath in some pitiful attempt to prolong our lives. It is all I can do.

A rush of cold, fresh air, and the smell of sun-baked cement hit me hard, and I instinctively huff it in with long, deep breathes. Light begins to shine into the dark shelter, and with it I feel hope washing over me, telling me that we're safe and that now we can move on with our lives- just forget about it all and start anew in a small town where we'll never have to think of it again. It sounds nice.

"Please stand to the furthest corner of the area, we are about to take out the wall." The tired voice calls through the small sliver of light, and I quickly scramble on hand and knees to do so, tucking my still crying brother under my body as I moved furthest away from the voice.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and slouch down, waiting. I notice a very distinct numbing throb in my calf, but it does not particularly hurt, so I do not take heed of it.

A sudden pound and crack signals the breaking of the concrete wall, and I listen to it fall outwards, landing heavily into a pile of broken concrete slabs. It is a beautiful sound, for being so unpleasant, and I shiver as the echo of it quivers within the confines of my heart.

My brother is still screaming, and I sooth my hand over his face, trying to wipe away the gathered dusk from his cheeks.

"Madam, are you okay? Madam-" A sudden gasp as the outline of a short, burly man came towards me, crouching down to fit into the crowded shelter. "Someone get an intensive care unit quickly! This woman has a child and looks to be in very bad shape."

For a moment, it does not occur to me that I'm the one in _bad shape_, that there is something wrong with me, and I can do nothing more than stare at him blankly as he continues to gently tell me reassurances, an edgy panicky to his expression. The distinctive throbbing comes again, and with the new light and the feeling of dread starting to pierce through the emotional numbness that had been settling over me some time back, I finally look down at my body-

And have to fight back a scream.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> I know she may seem less than spectacular for being the main character of this story fragment, but she is only human, a civilian human, so I'm sure she can be forgiven for the way she is. Oh yeah, **if anyone has a request, please do not hesitate to ask**! I have three weeks of break coming up, so I should have time then to do some writing. Thank you for reading!

**Please review**, and if you have a request that is private, just send me a PM and I'll keep your name anonymous.


	20. Mates

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warnings:** Unbated. _Animalistic_ mating rituals/life styles. Birthing.

**Pairing:** Implied Ironhide/Ratchet and Wheeljack/Ratchet, and potential future Twins/Ratchet.

**AN:** Hello! It's been a while since I've made anything that was not OC related, but I was simply having one of those months. However, I have been finding my slash muse being tickled over the last while and just stated a whole slew of different story bits that I just needed to get down in writing. Please enjoy!

**To a certain someone who knows who she is**: I will get to work on the Breakdown story soon. I'm just clearing out the clutter in my folder before it starts to overwhelm me. Much loves.

**(Will edit this at a later date.)**

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><p><strong>Prompt- Mates<strong>

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><p>Mating season had never been Ratchet's favorite, but the nesting and rearing that came after was worth the effort it took not to snap at anybot that tried to mount him when the time came around. For the last three seasons though, he'd been unable to muster the required restraint to allow any ready sires close, having found them unbearably ostentatious, arrogant, or just plain inexperienced.<p>

_His last had been a huge sire by the designation Ironhide. That season, Ratchet had actually enjoyed the entire process, not just the brood carrying and nurturing, but the act of mating itself. They'd produced the most beautiful little sparkling too, all reds and blues and tall- so tall. The little one had surpassed both his sire and carrier in size by the time he'd left the den with his sire. It'd been so worth it though._

_Ironhide had been a nomadic bot, and had only stayed bound to the area for the white-plated carrier's company and to help raise their sparkling to maturity. Ratchet held no grudges against him for leaving though, for he'd been warned beforehand that the time would come when the red-plated sire would once more leave to dwell the open deserts of the east. So, it'd been with a surprisingly tender nudge of affection and a kiss to his sparkling, Optimus, that Ratchet watched as the red-plated bot had disappeared from his life, taking their grown offspring with him._

_Since then, Ratchet had yet to find another he'd allow to brood with him. Not for lack of looking though, and definitely not for lack of wanting. The selection of sires just wasn't what it used to be, for instead of sturdy, weathered sires with a good helm on their shoulders, the vorns of unusual peace and plenty had turned the carriers' optics away from survival and more towards aesthetics. So for a carrier who wanted nothing more than a strong, reliable, and loyal mate to pass the season with, such was not forthcoming._

_The gene pool was diminishing more and more each season into bright, flashy youngsters with their crotch plates half loose and libidos a mile long. Needless to say, the young suitors dueling it out and flashing their colors for the carriers, and more often than not flashing those colors at him, did not please Ratchet and the carrier made sure they all knew it._

_Still, that didn't mean the young potentials didn't come snooping around his den looking to impress and win themselves over an experienced mate who'd pass their coding on to future generations. Unfortunately, all they found most the time was a good hissing at, and for the more persistent ones, a good bite in the face when they tried pushing themselves into the carrier's den without his permission._

_However, this season he'd managed to find a bot, and while he was certainly no Ironhide, he came pretty fragging close in terms of compatibility and Ratchet genuinely liked the bot. His designation was Wheeljack, and though he was a bit on the weirder side of abnormal, he was a good forager and a devoted mate that just rubbed Ratchet in all the right ways both in and out of the den._

_And apparently very potent too, because Ratchet was soon heavy with a brood far exceeding the number of sparklings he'd had in any of his former seasons._

_However, the good seasons were not to last and once more the rains ceased to fall, drying the lands which then bred fires as swift as the western praxian clan and as deadly as the rouges of the southern badlands. Then when the rains finally came, flash floods destroyed the den sites, flooding the underground network of tunnels, killing many of the newborn sparklings in its aftermath._

_Luckily, Ratchet's stubborn nature had caused him to mate late in his search for an acceptable mate, and so he was still carrying during the flood. However, fate was not so kind as to leave him unaffected, for after the flood his mate had disappeared, said to have been seen swept far to the west by the raging waters, over the falls and beyond the reach of any bot this time of season not of aerial decent._

_However, waiting was not an option, for even should he have survived the falls, the notorious praxian clan would be sure to make short work of an outsider wandering their territory without consent. And so, Ratchet grieved the loss of his mate and the potential fate of his brood should the trials of parenthood alone be too great in this time of uncertainty and strife._

_Still, he moved on, traveling north with his chassis heavy with sparklings and his hands worn and aching from fire and famine, searching for a territory to call his own and provide for his soon to be born family. Away from the flooding river he marched, pass the charcoaled fields, even beyond the jagged mountains till he reached the northern forest, a place in which the most fearsome of bots were said to dwell in the shadow of the starless canopy._

_And this is where the true story begins, deep within the dark jungle, where even the sun touches not the minerals of the planet._

* * *

><p>With caution, Ratchet searched the underbrush for any signs of predation, hoping beyond all hope that this patch of jungle would be free of the notorious sparkling eaters said to roam the deepest parts of the northern lands. He sniffed the iron rich soils and the energon grasses for signs of territorial marking, seeking to find an area unclaimed by bots he could not defend against.<p>

After four hours of searching he found none, and with a resolute rake of his claws at the base of an overhanging ledge he begun to construct his birthing den, set and ready to conquer any obstacle thrown at him.

Digging it out took the better part of the orn, but when he was satisfied with its design, it was truly a den worth defending. Overhanging vegetation covered the low, narrow opening, and the root system of the forest above it created a natural cradle within the dark confines. Easy to defend, easy to escape should the need arrive. However, Ratchet hoped it didn't come to that before the sparklings were old enough to run beside him, for if it did his sparklings would most certainly parish, for he would die before abandoning them but he could not carry more than one at a time through the narrow cracks of the roots.

The protection came with that price, but Ratchet was willing to accept it because, in all honestly, he was out of time.

The first pains of labor struck him even before he could completely lay down the soft bedding of leaf litter, all but sending him to the ground with its intensity and forcing him to take the ready birthing position with his back arched and his legs spread beneath him. The pain came in convulsions, pushing and twisting at his insides as he struggled to remain silent, wishing not to attract the attention of potential predators lurking about outside.

In the absence of a mate, he checked himself, using his fingers to check the stretch of his valve. He prayed there would be no complications while he was in such a state, not sure if he'd be able to properly conduct a delicate procedure on himself while in the throws of labor.

The first sparkling to come was a big one, almost as big as his sparkling with Ironhide had been, and just as painful. He'd pawed at the ground, biting down on anything within his reach and holding back cries of pain before they could erupt from his throat. He was sure he felt something rip as it finally, finally came to land softly on the thick padding beneath him.

He'd managed to clean the sparkling and got it to give its first weak cry just as the next came sliding smoothly through his stretched valve opening. Apparently, after the first and biggest of his brood, the rest just came effortlessly: a blessing to the taxed and tense carrier.

Unfortunately, the smell of his recent birthing did not go unnoticed by the passerby traveling just a little ways away from his den.

* * *

><p>The massive red bot with gleaming black claws and horns crouched down as he found traces of another bot having been in his and his brother's territory while they had been away for the last season. Not that he hadn't been expecting this, it was an usual occurrence when the owners of a territory was away, but he was surprised by the strange sent the other emitted, one that spoke of riverbanks and open grasslands.<p>

Now, that was unusual.

Still, he and his brother would take care of the intruder all the same, like they always did. This wasn't the first time they'd had to chase out- or as was more often the case with his brother, killed- a bot that'd taken a claim to their land. It wasn't something they took lightly.

Just as he begun to rise from his crouch, the smell of freshly spilt energon and something else distinctly primal whipped through the air and straight into his face, nearly making him stumble back with the intensity of it. It immediately sent the sensors in his nasal wild, making his frame tense with anticipation.

Well, when a free meal comes calling, who is he to refuse.

He darted through the low-lying brush, weaving and dodging through the trees with familiar ease, following the scent riding so potently on the wind. He only stopped when he came to a small ledge dipped low into the roots of an impressive tree towering high above the forest floor.

For a moment, he was unsure as to where the exact location of the smell was coming from, until he traveled a little further down the ledge and caught a strong whiff of the scene almost directly beside him. He immediately spotted the signs of recently shifted soils and headed towards it, laying low and stalking about the opening of the hidden den set firmly into the ledge side.

Had it not been dug so recently he'd have probably missed it completely, but as it was that wasn't the case. Still, he was impressed.

He grinned mischievously, ready to lunge and bully the meal right out of the other's den, crouched low and at the ready, frame poised perfectly for balance and maximum force.

One, step, two, step, three-

"Ah!" He barely managed to stumble away as a blur of white flashed before him and pain struck like fire across his face, momentarily blinding him. He all but howled as he shook his helm and tried to lessen the sting of the sudden blow, backing up to put distance between he and his assailant.

It was a low, incensed hiss that finally brought the large bot out of his pain-induced daze. His optics instantly settled on the white-plated bot crouched defensively at the den's opening, hissing and baring his dentals in a display of obvious threat.

In rage, the red bot growled back from deep in his throat, sharp dentals bared menacingly and frame rearing up in a show of dominance, killing intent radiating off him in waves. He snapped his jaw and moved closer, staring down his opponent with livid blue optics.

Still, the other did not cower and instead stepped forward as well, clearly not intending to back down, and it was then the red-plated bot finally took in the appearance of the other. Ice blue optics dim in pain, expression twisted between rage and agony, the telltale sign of energon smeared down his inner thighs, pooling at his unsteady peds, and the intensity in which he was defending the den.

He'd just recently birthed.

Now curious, and realizing that the other was not much of a threat in the state he was in at the moment, the red bot relaxed slightly and instead moved slowly towards the other, being sure to keep out of reach. He watched as the smaller bot tensed and snapped his dentals again, clearly unimpressed by the other.

The red bot looked over the white bot's shoulder to peer curiously into the den, only to be forced back as the other charged at him, stopping just short of actually getting him.

"Go away, slagging youngling! I have no time for this." The white bot hissed, but his voice was hoarse and strained, just edging the line between threat and gasp.

With a quick lick at the energon starting to run across his lips, the red bot spoke. "You're in our territory."

"It was unclaimed last I checked." The carrier snarled back. "And I did- thoroughly."

A shrug. "My brother and I were gone for awhile, but this is our territory and you just went and dropped your litter right in the center of it." The larger bot mocked darkly, grinning condescendingly as he stalked towards the other with long, purposeful strides, a mischievous glint in his optics. "Such a trespass would usually warrant the sparkling's deaths, wouldn't it."

The growl that escaped the carrier nearly startled the other with its sheer malice, but he managed to catch himself before it showed.

"Try it and I'll rip your throat out."

"Really." He took one challenging step forward, leveling himself to meet the other's gaze square in the optic. "I don't think you could reach that high up."

Dark, foreboding rage vibrated through the small mech's entire being, and the red mech took a step back, recognizing that he'd gone far enough and it was time to stop his teasing before he really did have a fight to the death on his hands.

He immediately threw his hands up and lightened his expression. "Who do you take me for? Buckethead? Do I seriously look like I'd kill a sparkling in cold energon?" He smiled his most charming smile, trying to appear harmless.

Ratchet took one look at the other's clawed hands, predatorily sharp dentals, and the energon smeared across those taunt lips from having been lapping his wound and gave the other a decidedly pointed look.

Realizing how he must look with his face covered in energon, the red bot rubbed the back of his helm. "I was just teasing. I know I look mean, but I'm actually a nice guy." Again with the grin, but the teeth and energon ruined the intended effect.

A deeply ingrained mistrust shone clearly in the carrier's optics, and the red bot deflated a bit, knowing there was no convincing this bot as he was now, especially so close to the time of delivery of the sparklings.

Threatening the carrier's sparklings, even just playfully, he decided, had not been his best idea.

"Okay, okay, I get it. I'll leave you alone for now." The red bot said pleasantly, backing up slightly before he spoke once more. "But I will be coming to check on you. Can't just let you roam around my brother's and my territory unchecked now can we?" He reminded with a distinct gleam in his optic Ratchet found he did not particularly trust.

"Just leave." The white plated carrier hissed, optics narrowing further in warning.

The red plated bot smirked. "See you later, little carrier." And with that the larger bot slipped gracefully into the underbrush, nothing more than a flicker of scarlet in the shadows of the looming canopy overhead.

After the menace was completely out of sight and a few minutes of standing defensively in front of the den incase of a surprise attack, the carrier finally lessened his stance and entered the den in solemn silence. Once inside, he curled himself around his weakly whimpering sparklings and nuzzled into their warmth, smelling the faint mixture of energon, lubricant and something else distinctively unique on their soft armor.

That night, he dared not sleep, dared not leave his sparklings unattended, and dared not let the first tears fall from misty optics les once they begin they would never again cease.

It was a very long night.

* * *

><p>Breaking the news of an intruder staying right in the spark of their territory had not been easy for Sideswipe, and neither had avoiding nearly having his helm ripped from his shoulders when he said he'd allowed the intrusion to go unpunished. This had all been expected though, and so Sideswipe was neither surprised nor particularly troubled of his brother's violent outburst.<p>

The mention of the intruder being a lone carrier with sparklings, however, seemed to trigger a different kind of reaction from his usually volatile brother, and even Sideswipe, who'd shared the same spark as Sunstreaker from birth, had not been expecting the intensity in which the yellow plated bot was reacted.

"We have sparklings to provide for." Sunstreaker had said simply once his brother had finished explaining the situation in full, as though it were the most mundane thing in the world to be announcing.

Sideswipe had gave his brother a suspicious look, optics hard and calculating as he watched his twin stare off in the directing of the carrier with an intense gaze that spoke volumes of his intentions. "They are not ours, Sunstreaker. If they were, we'd know."

Sunstreaker snorted, casting his brother a narrowed glance. "They are on our land, and seeing as you accepted them, they are now ours, as is the carrier who bore them. I shall go to inspect him and the sparklings come first light." Having come to a decision, the sleek, yellow bot made for the their nesting tree and Sideswipe gave an exasperated sigh as he followed his brother up into the sturdy branches.

It was a tall, thick tree baring the scars of many winters and the frequency of clawed hands digging into the hard bark with each trip up into the leaves above. If the tree could be described as anything other then large, it would be resilient, if its apparent abuse was anything to go by.

Once the brothers had settled into the foliage, Sideswipe spoke up. "Just because the carrier's in our territory, does not automatically make he and his sparklings our territory."

"A carrier who enters another's territory knows that to do so is to invite its owner's attentions. To have sparklings in the middle of it means he intends to stick around. So either the sparklings are to be presented to us to imprint on, or we get them out of our territory." Having said that and made his point, the yellow twin took to ignoring his brother completely, instead turning to rest for the night.

Sideswipe, knowing he could do nothing to sway his brother, merely shook his helm and lay beside his brother, relaxing into the warmth that radiated off him. Just before he too slipped into recharge though, a small smile crossed his lips, small and warm.

It'd been awhile since his brother had taken a genuine interest in a carrier despite his near overwhelming desire to sire and raise sparklings of his own. He just hoped the fiery little carrier managed to catch and keep his brother's interest after the initial meeting, because the way things were going, the twins were heading down the long and pitiful path of loneliness.

This was going to get interesting.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Gasp! Ratchet has babies. I want to snuggle them so badly! This is just a story bit to get those muses going and hopefully bring some entertainment in these post-Christmas lazy days. Once more, if anyone wants to use some of these ideas for their own stories, please do so. Just send me a message of some sort telling me about the story so I can read it too. I mostly write these because they're things I wish I could read myself!

**Please review…**


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